


Everything Is Connected

by Yevdokiya



Category: Cloud Atlas (2012), Cloud Atlas - All Media Types, Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
Genre: Action/Adventure, Multi, Reincarnation, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-19 07:16:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 79,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2379596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yevdokiya/pseuds/Yevdokiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Much of this story simply puts the movie into words while fleshing out the inner world of its characters, chiefly Hae-Joo Chang, but others as well. I also filled in missing details of the plot and setting that had me wondering, and imagined additional ways its beloved cast of intertwined souls might be connected. I refer to very few of the souls in their various incarnations by name, but hopefully you will recognize all of them. I threw in connections to some other stuff I love, too. I wish you as much joy in reading as I had in writing this!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting

A familiar pressure roused Hae-Joo from sleep. He knew before his eyes opened that it was Sonmi, resting her head on his chest again. The weight of her head and the warmth of her breath on him felt good; he could have stayed that way. But now that he was awake, he had to look at her… to know why.

He slowly propped himself up on one elbow, causing her to raise her head. As she gazed back at him, she seemed nervous, but not scared—unlike when he had jerked up and startled her the last time, and like so many other times he had seen her frightened since she followed him out of the diner. And she had a look in her eyes… the same look he had seen the first time he awoke to find her resting her head on his chest. It had drawn his face toward hers, before the alarm told him Enforcers were coming; it shone even more clearly now. Could it be…?

He could tell she wanted something... _needed_ something. “Are you all right?” he asked her softly.

She hesitated. Then—“I know… it is forbidden.”

She drew in her breath, but said no more. Her face was very close to his.

His eyes fell to her lips, and his heart began to pound. There was no mistaking her. He had dreamt of this moment, yet he had never allowed himself to hope it would actually happen.

 

Well before they met, Hae-Joo had resolved to treat the ascending fabricant that would be in his care with kindness. He had known that she would greatly need it. However, he had been surprised by the immediate sense of connection he felt to Sonmi-451 when he saw her for the first time in person.

Like most so-called pure-bloods, he had never had a conversation with a fabricant. Unlike almost his entire kind, he wished to treat her as his equal; but he had also prepared for an expected difficulty interacting with her, due to the immense gulf that the systems of Unanimity had created between them and enforced throughout their lives. Yet to his surprise, he felt right away that he understood her. She spoke so little, but he found that he could read her thoughts and emotions in her eyes as clearly as he knew his own.

He had turned around and startled her, already awake and creeping up hesitantly behind him, and had to convince her not to dart away. Then he had to convince her that her best chance of staying alive, and continuing what he knew to be her ascendance, was in leaving the diner—the only life she knew—with him, a man she’d never seen before, and doubtless the first pure-blood to speak to her beyond giving orders. Immediately.

He saw her taking in what he said to her, comprehending, yet utterly bewildered at the same time, and uncertain if she could believe him. The way he spoke to her and acted toward her, even his very appearance in the diner at this hour, toppled the rules of her universe; she was, understandably, very frightened. Yet he saw that she wished to trust him, even in her confusion and fear. He also saw her desire to live: not only to survive, but to  _live._ To think and learn in ways fundamentally forbidden to her, even knowing all too well the price if she were caught. His heart had pounded as she struggled to decide, as if her choice would shape not only his mission, but his very soul. And with her shaking nod of assent, he had felt exhilaration as never before.

In the minutes, hours, and days that followed, he had witnessed her awakening self-awareness. He had watched awe and delight fight the fear deep within her as she experienced the things in life he took for granted for the first time. He had seen helpless terror overwhelm her again and again, only to be overcome again and again by courage—courage that her entire creation from genoming through conditioning, with constant reinforcement from the catechisms, was intended to subdue. And it had soon become clear to him how utterly lovely he found her, despite having seen her features and figure many other times among the fabricants of Neo Seoul. For in her ascendance, her face and body expressed her inner being in ways that no other fabricant’s had, making them uniquely and beautifully _hers_.

But fabricants, of course, were allowed to possess nothing. It was just one of many ways Unanimity maintained their inferiority and lack of individuality, keeping their status well below that of even the poorest subs. When Sonmi-451 agreed to leave the diner with Hae-Joo, she had been barefoot, clad only in one of the short, papery white sleep shifts that she and her sisters retrieved from their clothing chute every night, and the ever-present metal collar. She had looked thin and helpless, practically naked; he supposed that was exactly as the shift had been designed to make her look. He had brought shoes and a short black cloak for her to wear during her escape, and he quickly took them out of his bag and held them out to her. She stared at them blankly, uncomprehending.

“Put these on, please,” he told her gently. She looked back at him with huge eyes, and he had to realize that the simple act of donning clothes that did not come from a chute, but a pure-blood’s hands, was completely alien to her. But she obeyed, and he felt somewhat relieved when the cloak and shoes were on her slender body and feet. A far cry from the bright, cheery eatery of business hours, the diner was kept dim and grey during the fabricants’ sleep shift, revealing it as the prison it always was; she looked cold and vulnerable in it. This was the only home Unanimity had seen fit to give her and her sisters. But soon, she would know the pleasure of a far more comfortable dwelling... if he could manage to get them there safely.

He quickly finished destroying the Union monitoring chips concealed throughout the diner. They were no longer needed, and would only give the Enforcers clues in the investigation to come. She watched him silently, eyes ever wide. He finished where he had begun, at the door to the storeroom; a click of the orison, and it slid shut, enclosing the grisly scene within.

“Come,” he said, leading the way to the half-open security gate... but he could hear that she wasn’t following him. He looked back to her where she stood, frozen. For her to have difficulty physically leaving the diner had been expected; he would have to proceed very carefully. He slowly took a step toward her.

Abruptly, she darted away. For an instant he thought panic had gotten hold of her, and he tensed to act, to keep her from hurting herself—but she soon stopped before one of the other, closed doors. It was to the lost and found room. With a trembling hand, she touched the slot where an access key would have gone, then looked back at him. There was something like a plea in her eyes; clearly, she wanted him to open the door.

She had spent time with Yoona-939 in the lost and found room, time of crucial significance to her ascendance. Perhaps she wanted a last look—or even to take something with her. Any spark of initiative from this timid fabricant was precious, and must be encouraged. He quickly joined her at the door and clicked the orison, opening it.

She scurried past him to a carton in the corner, reached inside, and snatched up a small device, a sony or kino— _yes_. But as she turned back to him, her shoulders were hunched with fear, and her eyes full of terror... even shame. She seemed ready for him to punish her, even as she clutched the item tightly.

His pleasure gave way to pity. She had already decided to do what for a fabricant was unthinkable, based solely on his word; but the catechisms were burned deep into her, and handling Consumer property without permission most certainly earned xcisement. She may have decided to trust him and escape, but how could she know what the rules would be from now on?

The little device probably had much to do with the whispers and sounds that the monitoring chip had picked up when she and Yoona-939 were in the lost and found room. The fact that Sonmi-451 wished take an object of significance with her into her new life boded very encouragingly for her ascendance, and it could only make their escape easier if it bolstered her courage. It was the closest thing to a possession that she had, and it might even give him something useful to work with as he helped her continue her ascendance. Far from angering him, her spontaneous action elated him, and proved that he had been right about her.

But there had been no time to explain all of this to her then; he simply nodded as reassuringly as he could, unable to keep a slight smile from his face. He could see both surprise and relief in her face as she crept out of the room, holding the precious kino tightly. He clicked the door shut and moved again toward the security gate, and this time, she followed him.

But as he ducked under the half-open gate, he heard her footsteps slow. He looked back at her from the other side, and she came to a halt, trembling, fearfully eyeing the barrier, the kino grasped before her like a talisman. He held his breath. This was the crucial moment. She had verbally agreed, but now she had to take the irreversible step. His hand went out to her, an instinctive gesture for her to join him... but the choice had to be hers alone.

He saw her frightened eyes leave the gate, focusing on him. Then she took a deep breath; bent forward, and darted across. He exhaled in relief as she joined him on the other side. His arm went around her automatically, to steady her, to ward off panic, but triumph roared through his soul: she had done it.

He clicked the gate shut, then moved her slowly but firmly toward the lift. She was panting anxiously, peering around as if disoriented, almost staggering; she seemed to welcome his support. Such reactions were only natural, and she showed no signs of more serious trauma. He was glad his arms seemed to help her, for they had a long way to go. Now the journey would truly begin.


	2. Gifts

She froze again, trembling, in front of the lift, and again he held out his hand to her. He could hardly blame her. She had witnessed Yoona-939’s death as she tried to flee through this same lift mere hours ago. An encouraging smile seemed a better answer to her fearful eyes than any words. He could not promise her that they would get away safely, nor that they would be safe where they were going. He could only do his best to see that they would, and his best effort was likely more capable of that than anyone else's; he tried to convey this assurance to her. He didn’t want her to be afraid.

She gazed at him for a few seconds and then, hesitantly, put her hand in his. Her fingers felt very delicate in his as he drew her inside. He deftly positioned her beside him, released her and programmed the lift. As they began to ascend, he found himself looking at her hands again; her nails were painted bright orange with red tips, one of the standard patterns Papa Song servers received in automatic styling. It was a garish combination, but her hands were slender and graceful in spite of it, even nervously fidgeting with the kino as they were now.

Then they had their first view of the city, its glittering towers, glowing drivetubes and streams of traffic. He turned to her and saw her eyes widening with astonishment, and, yes, wonder, at the sight. He looked back out at the city; it would be dazzling indeed, if you’d never seen anything like it. The thought gave him pleasure, for her sake.

“Welcome to Neo Seoul,” he told her warmly.

The lift brought them straight to the door of the driver. He tucked her swiftly into the passenger seat, took manual control, and sped off. The vehicle's previous owners had been Consumers with close Board connections that allowed them a large number of privileges; with their ID-nano lock hacked and overridden, the vehicle would now help Union to safely transport a fabricant, the least privileged being in the Unanimic hierarchy, to freedom. It was completely opaque from the outside, exempt from interior surveillance, automatically bypassed for routine Enforcer stops, and pre-authorized for post-curfew travel and top-speed, priority drivetubes. All of this would increase their chances of evading detection now.

He raced them on a circuitous path across the city at the highest possible speed that wouldn't get him flagged for recklessness, and glanced over at her whenever he could. To his satisfaction, she continued to do very well; her eyes were huge as she watched the city flash by, but she appeared as least as fascinated as she was anxious.

He had to get rid of her collar before she could be discovered missing at the end of the sleep shift. It contained a tracking chip, a technology primarily used by fabricant establishments to recover stolen models when the thieves were too slow or stupid to remove them. Occasionally the chip also aided in locating those rare, so-called defective models that wandered away from their work in a state of disorientation; no fabricant had yet been known to deliberately leave their establishment. Yoona-939 had been the first to attempt it, but she hadn’t gotten far, thanks to the collar’s other chief function.

Collar removal was a tricky business. The manufacturers programmed them to release only when the fabricant’s brain function ceased. There were plenty of tinkerers employed by black market dealers in Old Seoul who could get a collar off, but with varying degrees of success as far as the fabricants concerned; besides that, Hae-Joo had set up their safe house in Neo Seoul rather than the old city. But he had been able to make arrangements with Ovid, a retired surgeon and Union sympathizer in Neo Seoul who had helped Hae-Joo and his comrades dig out ID-nanos and the like for years. He was a generous soul, if a man of few, gruff words and a strangely hoarse voice; a calm figure in white who somehow radiated a sense of enlightenment attained. And he was very clever with his hands… though he’d never removed a fabricant collar before.

Soon they were at Ovid’s secret workshop. The wrinkled man bowed silently to them, and gestured to a stained and beat-up operating chair. Hae-Joo quietly explained to his nervous charge what was about to happen as he helped her remove her cloak and got her settled in the chair, letting her continue to clutch the kino in her fist. With great care, Ovid examined the collar through molecular micro-spectacles and placed marking devices on the collar. Then, taking up his specially modified laser cutter, Ovid warned her gruffly to keep very still, and—rather unnecessarily, Hae-Joo thought—tapped the location of the collar’s termination charge, explaining that it contained just enough power to blow her carotid artery.

As the laser hissed to life, she made a tiny, frightened sound, and shut her eyes tightly. Hae-Joo felt his jaw clench; his eyes flickered to Ovid's face, then back to the laser slowly burning through the metal collar, micrometers from the carefully marked charge. He trusted Ovid, without quite knowing why, but the terror on Sonmi-451’s face as she held herself motionless disturbed him greatly... not to mention the proximity of both the termination charge and the blue-hot laser cutter to her throat.

The manufacturers were clever. The charge would detonate if the collar's magnetic field was breached by a conventional laser; while complex laser tools like Ovid's would not trigger this feature, the weakest and therefore best point to cut the magnetic field was practically on top of the termination charge itself. Just one little slip of the man's hands, or a tiny twitch from the frightened fabricant in the chair...

The hiss of the laser ceased as the severed collar snapped open, and Hae-Joo exhaled. Ovid reached down and pried the collar off, and Hae-Joo noted that it held three stars. It was a startling reminder of how brief her life thus far had been, and the shortness of fabricants’ lives in general. They emerged from the wombtanks at the stage of physical development their manufacturers had determined optimal for their duties, and they aged only minimally during their subsequent twelve years of service. The developmental age for Papa Song servers was approximately twenty-five years, but right now, the creature before him seemed much younger; and in a very real sense, she was.

Hae-Joo watched her slim fingers trace her newly free neck, and wondered what it would be like to touch one’s entire neck for the first time. Hers looked long, slender, and fragile... “How does it feel?” he asked, his gaze returning to her face. How innocent she seemed, looking up at him with those wide eyes.

“ _Good_ ,” came her shy but vehement reply. And he realized that he already felt fiercely protective of her.

 

Hae-Joo had carefully weighed the decision of where they should hide immediately after her escape. In the end, he had concluded that while the slums offered their usual anonymity, taking his charge straight there posed two critical problems. Primarily, it would force a longer, more complicated journey on a fabricant whose conditioning could cause a life-threatening behavioral backlash at any moment; in addition, the old city, chaotic even in the middle of the night, could be such a bewilderingly new experience for her that it could in itself trigger dangerous trauma.

No, the fabricant would need a peaceful, carefully controlled environment for at least the first few days after leaving the diner. So Hae-Joo had prepared a safe house in a skyscraper like many others, in an area of Neo Seoul that he was very familiar with. He could only hope that the swift but carefully roundabout route he had taken from the diner to Ovid’s and onward would take the Enforcers a bit of time to piece together, longer than the isolation period before the fabricant was ready to be taken to old Seoul. If worse came to worse, the entrances to the building as well as the door to the flat would be under constant Union surveillance, allowing for early warning of any sign of Enforcers; tampering with the door would send an additional alert to his sony, and the maximum security system would buy them a little more time, should they have to implement the swift escape procedure he’d prepared.

Luck remained with them on their swift journey from Ovid's workshop to the safe house. Soon, he was helping her into the flat, setting the habitat orison spinning as the security system closed behind them. With a few clicks, his habitat selections flowed over the bare grey walls and floor. He had taken a bit of time with them early in his planning, wanting the fabricant’s first dwelling to be soothing, yet stimulating, and he had felt rather satisfied with the deep blue walls, the animation of the tree with slowly falling blossoms and the sky effects on the screen, the crisp white storage shelves and warm red floor mats. But it was her reaction that mattered, and even from the corner of his eye, he could see her anxiety ease as the habitat took shape around them. This pleased him.

Yet he couldn’t help putting a sobering sight up on the wall viewscreen: an aerial view of Old Seoul. As they took in the dark spectacle of the drowned skyscrapers and choked slums just beyond the damway, he told her that the newer city was likely to look the same way in less than a century. Somehow, he thought she should know right away of the encroaching ruin, the black truth alongside the splendor of this new world above the ground. She moved closer to the screen, gazing intently; he wished he could know what she was thinking.

He gave her a brief tour of the flat, explaining everything as simply as he could, trying to put her at ease. As he did, he was suddenly very much aware of how much time he was about to spend with her, alone, in this limited space. He had known this in advance. It was his duty—he’d practically insisted on it. And yet now that that duty had begun, he had to acknowledge he felt somewhat... awkward.

He tried to dismiss it. The two of them had immensely important and difficult work ahead of them, and only by focusing on it entirely could he best help her; his feelings, however normal, were only a distraction. Yet despite his efforts, he found himself tensing with anticipation as she peered into the closet, full of new clothes for her.

Her hand moved haltingly toward the colorful, soft fabrics. “Mine? But these are—pure-blood clothes.” Her eyes were wide with surprise; perhaps even a tiny, hesitant pleasure. But she didn’t dare believe him yet.

A nervous laugh nearly escaped him; something about that gaze simply disarmed his defenses. “No,” he assured her. “They are yours.”

She spent a couple minutes gingerly fingering bits of her new wardrobe while he stood and watched. He felt a bit silly, yet he didn’t want to look away either… and there was nothing else for him to do at that moment. Finally, he gently suggested that she choose an outfit to put on.

This seemed to trigger her reflex to obey, unquestioningly—hardly what he’d been after, but understandable. With smooth, precise movements, she went to the table and put the kino down for the first time. She returned to the closet, reached without apparent thought for a blue tunic and laid it on the shelf. He realized it was almost the same color as the Papa Song server outfit, and pursed his lips. Well, it only made sense for her to go for something familiar the first time.

She removed the black cloak and looked around—she was probably looking for a disposal chute like the one in the diner. Finding none, she laid the cloak on the table next to the kino. She stepped out of the black shoes; hesitated. Then her hands moved toward the hem of her shift, took hold of it, and stopped. And he abruptly remembered that she was used to undressing in full view of her sisters.

“Not here,” he explained swiftly. “You can change in the bathroom. You can shower too, if you like.”

Then it struck him that in his explanations of the flat, he had forgotten to show her the bathroom. And that even assuming she would consider the bathroom a logical place to change clothes was assuming too much. It was just one of the many concepts that he, a so-called pure-blood, took for granted that was completely alien to a fabricant. She would be accustomed to a hygiener, and little modesty. Still, she had stopped herself... was she already developing a sense of modesty as she ascended? Then again, diner servers were not accustomed to being nude around _Consumers_ , just sisters. It was only natural for her to feel shy to undress in front of a man… him.

He quickly cut off any more thoughts of her undressing, and showed her the bathroom. Fortunately, she seemed to grasp the facilities readily. Fabricant hygieners weren’t much different from bathrooms, actually; they were just designed for efficient collective use, rather than privacy. Privacy itself would be a whole new concept for her... he wanted to get her reading a bit of philosophy soon, to give her a foundation on many of the new concepts she would be putting into practice. But he could see that they would have to begin a bit simpler.

As the door closed behind her, his eyes fell on the kino on the table. He considered for a moment whether it was appropriate for him to examine it. If he was to help her ascend, he needed to understand how she thought and felt, at this point of her development and continuing... but what would she think if she came out and saw him handling her apparent treasure? He had better wait, and ask her about it when she returned.

He heard the water of the shower turn on. She would be in there at least a few minutes yet; he could certainly manage a quick look. He was also unable to contain his curiosity any longer, so he picked it up and clicked it on.

A scene from the middle of an old vidi began, the sound slightly distorted and the picture flickering. A grey-haired, bespectacled man declared, “This is a violation of the ruddy incarceration act!”

Tim Cavendish. A pre-Unanimic classic he’d enjoyed a couple times in his youth. The sudden mental vision of Sonmi-451 and Yoona-939 huddled around this cheesy caper in the diner’s lost and found room made him smile.

“I will not be subjected to criminal abuse!” Cavendish continued. The line resonated strangely in him… he had heard it a lot more recently than his youth. And the smile left his face.

Those had been Yoona-939’s last words before her futile escape attempt. Though appropriate enough, they had seemed an enigmatic choice when he viewed the surveillance vidi of the last minute of that clever, unfortunate fabricant’s life; now he knew why she had picked them. So she had tried to follow the example of Cavendish, defiantly marching toward the doors of his prison-like elderly home. Bitterness filled Hae-Joo once again at the thought of Union’s failure, the loss of Yoona-939 and her outstanding potential…

Then the vidi jerked back to the point where it had begun. “This is a violation of the ruddy incarceration act!” Cavendish started again. The device was corrupted, playing one short scene over and over.

His heart fell. This kino must have been the heart of the sisters’ secret meetings; it had inspired Yoona-939 to unthinkable boldness, and was so dear to Sonmi-451 that she had risked unknown consequences to snatch it, and clung to it like a child in her fear. Yet it didn’t even work properly, and showed only a fragment of a story. He supposed only beings who were allowed nothing could make so much out of something so small.

He tried to focus on the positive. It was no wonder Sonmi-451 had wanted to take this with her. It was not only a token of her sister, and the one probable source of fun she’d had in her life; clearly, she as well as her sister must have grasped the theme of freedom in the one scene that the kino played. If the broken device had helped Yoona-939 find the boldness to fight her situation, and Sonmi-451 the courage to follow him out of the diner, then it was a precious thing indeed.

Actually, this vidi could provide the perfect first step in her education. Before he got her started on philosophy and science, they could watch the whole thing together. It told a story of escape and rebirth in an easily accessible way, and she already had a deep connection to it—or to one scene, at least.

He quickly digited it on the orison and set up the habitat’s theater system. It would be his gift to her—her first. The clothes didn’t count, for clothing, like food, was a necessity. And screw education; they could begin that tomorrow. This was just something for her to enjoy, to put her at ease on her very first night of freedom... something he found himself looking forward to giving her.

Even after he heard the water cease, a while passed; he could hear slight movements, and wondered briefly what she was doing. Well, the bathroom was equipped with a mirror, all-cleaner-drier-styler, and basic cosmetics, in addition to the shower and toilet, all typical Consumer things that she was free to use; as long as she remained as rational and free of trauma as she seemed, none of them could harm her, nor were they any of his business. He took off his shoes—he did, after all, plan to stay here with her a while—and digited some Corporate weapons journals comrades had procured for him recently to pass the time, and soon became absorbed. 

When Sonmi finally emerged in the first non-fabricant outfit she had ever worn, his heart skipped a beat.

He honestly couldn’t even remember picking the gracefully draped blue tunic she had on, but he was certainly glad now that he had. Despite the color, she looked nothing like a diner server in it... just a very pretty young woman.

But it was her opinion of the clothing that mattered, not his. And he suddenly, fervently wished her to be pleased with at least one of his hasty selections. He had thought it important that the fabricant in his charge be able to select her own clothes, and good ones at that, after wearing identical, disposable outfits and shifts her entire life; but it had been easiest for him to just order a few high-quality collections in contrasting styles for her to choose from, all of which looked vaguely nice at a glance, and be done with it. There had been little enough time to make preparations for her arrival, and although he had many skills, clothes shopping wasn’t really among them.

“Do you like them?” he asked, hopefully.

Her small, hesitant nod of assent filled him with pleasure. “You look lovely,” he heard himself say, as his eyes lingered.

Now, what had he been meaning to do when she came out...? Of course. He quickly shut down the weapons digis and busied himself putting the seats in place for their vidi viewing, feeling slightly embarrassed at what he had said. Yet she _did_ look lovely. Why should he feel embarrassed? It was the truth. She had come a couple steps closer, and he was gazing at her again. He quickly picked up the kino. Feeling eager and sheepish at the same time, he explained what he had done.

"This used to play vidis, but the chip is corrupted; stuck in a loop. So I digited—found the rest of it."

“The rest of it?” she queried, not understanding.

He could hardly hold back his grin as he presented her with the vidi’s title credits, musical flourish and all, and watched the awe light up her face.

He enjoyed the viewing even more than he had expected to. It was quite a cheesy vidi; he felt more nostalgia for it than anything. But it thrilled him to imagine the wonder she must feel at experiencing the entire vidi and story—indeed, _any_ vidi, and any story—for the first time. Sneaking glances at her now and then confirmed this: her rapt attention as she utterly gave herself over to the experience, the way her eyes shone… were there tears in them at the end? He couldn't be sure. But he was certain that she had been deeply moved, and that both delighted and moved him in turn.

Yes, from their first hour together, his time with Sonmi had been full of such moments. Yet all of them could not explain the connection he felt the first time he lay eyes on her, before he had known her even a second. He couldn’t explain it. It had been like recognizing the dearest of friends… long lost, and finally found again.

He had known she would be utterly lost against the brutal systems of their world if he failed to protect her. And he had come horribly, horribly close to losing her, several times.

He had of course been fully aware of the importance of protecting the ascending fabricant, the greatest hope of the Union Movement, before his mission started. But his protectiveness went far deeper than this responsibility. It just felt so natural for him to want her to be safe, comfortable and close to him, always. And it tore him apart when she was in danger, fear or pain.

It was his very protectiveness that had made him try to crush his growing… attraction. That wasn’t the right word, though sexual attraction was certainly part of it. Sexual expression was the right of all free beings, and he wasn’t ashamed of feeling physically attracted to her. She _was_ beautiful. But such feelings on his part came with a host of issues.

Sexual contact between fabricants and consumers was not forbidden, exactly. There were plenty of fabricants in the sex industry, both officially and in the black market of stolen and resold models. Corporate sex venues involved strict procedures for fabricants regarding solicitation, arousal, and practically every last detail of any given sex act, while Consumers were limited only by their imaginations. The rules for fabricants in the black market were far more lax, as, ostensibly, preconditioned models could only be crudely trained beyond their original functions. Regardless, as in the Corporate market, the Consumer ruled every encounter. But non-commercial sexual contact between pure-bloods and fabricants was both taboo and expressly prohibited. According to Unanimity, born and manufactured life were not to couple unless the transaction was bought and paid for.

Even pure-bloods caught having non-commercial sex with fabricants faced punishment. Everyone knew it occurred from time to time; the most frequent scenarios involved Seers taking advantage of fabricants under their supervision, often in the same sex venues where such interactions were sold, though not always. While such pure-bloods, if caught, were labeled deviants and thrown in prison for a time, the fabricants were without exception xcised.

Yet, cruelly, fabricants were equally subject to xcisement if they made active attempts to prevent such exploitation. All models were conditioned to tolerate any form of violation or abuse of their bodies by pure-bloods, though their specific responses depended both on the act and their place of service. At Papa Song’s, fabricants were conditioned to smile placidly when Consumers hit or groped them, and to simply go about their work as much as they were able. Hard labor fabricants were often allowed no reaction to discomfort, whether from work accidents or the rare beating by an overzealous Seer; slowing their work pace could even trigger collar detonation. All fabricants were made to viscerally understand what was expected of them, their so-called catechisms, during their behavioral conditioning phase, as well as the consequences of transgression. And despite its inhumanity, this conditioning ensured that they retained an instinct for self-preservation. Fabricant conditioning methods were closely guarded Corporate secrets; even the memories of the fabricants themselves were wiped, while their acquired instincts were retained. But Union had obtained access to a great amount of sinister Unanimic research in fabricant conditioning. According to all known data, conditioned fabricants confronted with pure-blood behavior that violated their catechisms went unresponsive, simply ignoring forbidden activities until they ended; this included even sexual models placed in non-commercial sex scenarios.

The only known counterexample to this had been Yoona-939. No explanation for her anomalous behavior existed, other than the fact that she had been the only other fabricant known to have begun the process of ascension. And her relationship with her sexual partner, the Seer who ultimately destroyed her, had been… twisted... to put it lightly.

Hae-Joo knew too well that Sonmi's conditioning, even broken, was very much a part of her. This, combined with the sickening knowledge of how her sister Yoona-939 had been used, had made acting on his attraction to Sonmi seem unthinkable; this, as well as the truth of her higher purpose in Union's ultimate plan, far more important than the feelings of any human individual could be…

He knew that she trusted him. It almost pained him, how deeply and unquestioningly she had trusted him from the very beginning. He had known then that her trust was yet unearned, and had been fiercely determined that, as she grew in awareness, she should never come to regret it.


	3. Learning

Early the second day, Hae-Joo had spun the orison, opened the encrypted Union web link, and carefully selected the reading materials and docuvidis that would begin Sonmi’s study of her world.

He started with background information on the vidi they had watched together, and transitioned gradually to a sampling of philosophy, history, literature and science. He placed almost no limit on the information she would be able to access. All sensitive Union digis were locked under his officer code, but he left available general information on the Movement, open to any member or sympathizer with access to the encrypted link. It wasn’t nearly time yet to explain his involvement in the rebellion, nor its ultimate plan. But if she proved able to research by herself, it would be good if she were able to come across the idea that there _was_ a rebellion against Unanimity, on her own.

The only topics he locked were related to the truth behind what she knew as xultation. The horror just beyond what was to her a joyful annual ritual, an eagerly anticipated journey to freedom, would be far too traumatic for her to learn by digi. He didn’t yet know exactly how he would tell her the truth; they could only go one step at a time, and that one was still a long way ahead.

She sat quietly in a corner as he worked, her eyes scrupulously avoiding the Consumer digis, just as she had been conditioned. She had nothing to do, absolutely nothing to occupy her mind while she waited for whatever would happen next... but that was about to change.

He summoned her politely. “Could you come over here?”

She came quickly, eyes still averted from the digis. She had chosen a soft white dress and a loose grey robe today, and she looked dainty and homey at the same time. As she stood there, waiting, she seemed cautious… but also a tiny bit eager.

That was a very good sign, yet he had to remind himself to remain cautious as well. Yesterday, he had removed her from the only life she knew and launched one bewildering surprise at her after another; but so far, despite her fear, all had turned out to be interesting and pleasant. This could be different.

He’d introduce it as delicately as possible. “There are things you should know,” he said quietly, gesturing at the digis.

Confusion filled her eyes; followed by shock. Then she began to pant rapidly, her eyes huge with terror—and he had to turn away for a moment.

For something to do, he reached into the digis and pulled the docuvidi on Solzhenitsyn to the top. The banned writer, who’d already been censored during his lifetime in a much smaller, earlier totalitarian state, had but a tenuous connection to the Tim Cavendish narrative. But he thought she ought to hear certain of his words first; they summed up well why she needed to be exposed to all of this, even if she couldn’t grasp them initially. She could come back to them later once she began to understand.

First, however, he had to help her get past her fear. It bothered him more than he wanted to admit to see how much even the suggestion that she begin to learn frightened her.

But then, he realized that even fear was a start. An obedient fabricant would have merely looked away, tried to ignore the anti-catechism; shut off her mind even if he commanded her or physically forced her to look. And that he would never do.

No, Sonmi could do this. She just had to decide to do it… how could he best help her? He hesitated.

“But…" he heard her stammer, and turned back to her. "Seer Chang…” And he was surprised by the anger that flared in him when she addressed him so.

To her, it must only seem logical to call him that. He was, after all, a pure-blood engaging her in non-commercial conversation, and he’d been telling her what he wanted her to do, if in an indirect, courteous way. Only Seers had contact with fabricants outside working hours, and she had seen him in her new dwelling up till the moment she had closed her eyes the night before, and immediately upon waking the next morning.

He had taken a strong stimulant to ensure he would be able to watch her constantly the first night, during her sleep, and into the next day. He had needed to see if she could rest without soap, and to react immediately if she experienced any trauma.

After they finished the vidi, he had given her a carton of liquid protein to try, replacing the soap feeding that was routine for her before sleep with the closest substitute possible. She had seemed to like it well enough. It had been weirdly mesmerizing to watch her drink: she sat absolutely still, her eyes staring into space, slowly and evenly sipping the liquid down through the straw until it was gone.

Then, it had seemed as good a time as any to ask if she felt ready to sleep. She nodded, so he showed her which of her clothes were for sleeping. She went into the bathroom to change into a grey nightgown without any further prompting from him. While he waited for her, he dimmed the lights, but kept a rosy glow on the pink trees of the habitat screen. It ought to be soothing enough for sleep, yet would be sufficient to observe her carefully.

He watched her stare down at the first bed of her life, a simple mattress with a small pillow and a light blanket. She seemed puzzled by the last two things, having had none in her sleep box; he had to help her as she lay down, positioning her head on the pillow and drawing the blanket over her. Somehow it felt familiar, and warmed him inexplicably, to sit next to her bed afterward and watch her.

She clearly didn’t like the pillow, and he let her move it aside. He told her that the blanket was for warmth, and she might feel cooler in the open flat than in the sleep box she was used to. She kept the blanket on for another minute or so, but then pulled it off too. He didn’t push the matter.

When she had lain wide-eyed for several minutes, he realized she was reflexively waiting for the sedative effect of soap to kick in, now absent.

“Just close your eyes, and let yourself fall asleep if you feel like it,” he said quietly.

She closed her eyes obediently. In a short time, she did seem to fall asleep; he couldn’t be absolutely sure, but her breaths came at very even intervals. She breathed faster than he did, like all fabricants, yet the rapid, steady rhythm was reassuring to him.

Probably the shock of the previous day and the interruption of her last sleep cycle had been enough to compensate for the missing sedatives. _Good._ He hadn’t liked the thought of giving her any more drugs; it was too much like soap. She had already successfully ingested the… different liquid protein mixture without any psychotropic additives, and he’d prefer to keep it that way.

She lay perfectly straight and still. He supposed fabricants must, in those narrow sleep boxes—they were more like storage bins than anything else. The genomic manufacturers had not been able to entirely eliminate the need for fabricants to sleep, but they had gotten it down to a trim four hours. Papa Song diners simply closed to Consumer business while the servers slept; other types of establishments might have fabricants sleep in staggered shifts in order to continue work around the clock. The sedatives in soap were to ensure that all fabricants fell asleep at the same time after a work shift, and that none awoke in their locked boxes until they automatically opened, and all the workers were revived simultaneously by airborne stimulant before the next shift. It was all incredibly, brutally efficient.

She might not be able to sleep uninterrupted through this first cycle without the sedatives, and she could be disoriented, even seriously traumatized, when she awoke. So he had good reason to stay awake and watch her. It wasn’t a difficult task; the stimulant was an excellent one, and he felt neither drowsy nor jittery. It even felt good now to be able to just sit quietly and watch her lying there peacefully.

During the escape he had been concerned first with stealthily breaking into the diner, then with convincing her to come with him; then with getting her out, uncollared, through the city and to the safe house in secret and in one piece. Then, even after they were securely enclosed in the flat, he hadn’t been able to relax, but had been constantly alert observing her every move, showing her strange new things… surprising her to her core, and, admittedly, being surprised by her in turn.

Though he was relatively relaxed now, he still watched her intently for any signs of a delayed traumatic response, and he had a swift-acting tranquilizer on him if he needed it. Unanimic experiments had reported horribly violent reactions in fabricants forced to act against their conditioning; however, all that she had experienced to this point had been the direct result of her own decision to leave the diner, and that seemed to make the difference. All seemed to be unfolding just as Mitchell had theorized it would, and Hae-Joo could only hope that Union’s daring, desperate undertaking would continue to progress as smoothly as it had thus far.

Her grey nightgown was longer and softer than the sleep shift she had worn before. Still, she looked bare and vulnerable lying there… she could grow cold and wake up.

Taking a calculated risk, Hae-Joo took the discarded blanket and, with utmost delicacy, drew it over her again. She didn’t stir. She was fast asleep.

It was an oddly beautiful vigil. His body was wide awake, his eyes ever focused on her. But as she slept on, he allowed himself to meditate, as he regularly did when duty involved long hours of watchful waiting. He took in the visions that often came to him in meditation without question or surprise, accepting the mysterious, unknowable world beyond this life.

 

He saw the old sailing ship. The dark-skinned friend who cared for him in his illness. The pale doctor who forced foul potions down his throat, fingering the blue gems of the waistcoat buttons on his trembling, sweat-soaked chest.

He saw the savage, flesh-eating tribesmen slaughtering his young boy, then him in the forest, while he cried out to the doctor for help; but no, it was someone else he cried out for, a friend, a family member, who somehow reminded him of the doctor, and who never appeared to aid him.

He saw Boardman Mephi in the guise of a bulky, brutal woman, and he felt himself filled with rage so drunk and pure, it was delicious. He heard the bittersweet, melancholy musical theme that often accompanied his jumbled visions, a theme he knew very well: now sought on the keys of an old piano by a feverish young man, oblivious in his inspiration; now sung by an angelic chorus of fabricants filing onto a processing ship, blissful and unknowing.

Finally, the slender, red-haired beauty embraced him passionately again, as she always did, she for whom he had longed so much… except now, she had Sonmi’s face.

He flew back to current reality as the eyes of the Sonmi before him opened.

She jerked upright and tore off the blanket, looking around with quick, panicked movements, without comprehension.

His muscles tensed, but he didn’t move to restrain her—yet. He was ready to act in less than a second if he must. But as her eyes flashed across his, he saw recognition, and he could almost hear her rapid heartbeats slowing to their normal swift pace. The redhead’s lovely smile flickered across his mind one last time before vanishing.

She looked around again, and he could see her recall the previous night and where she was. It seemed that she was able to integrate her recent, conditioning-shattering experiences with the present… and about four hours had passed, her typical sleep cycle. _Success all around._

She turned back to him, looking shaken, yet somehow expectant.

“Good morning,” he said, brightening the screens to sunrise light.

His words were foreign to her, as Papa Song servers knew just one greeting and farewell to say to Consumers at any time of the day, and they never received reciprocal courtesy, just orders. But she clearly sensed the friendliness behind the phrase. She spoke no response, yet something like a real smile played across her lips… another first.

He had gone to the orison to set up her digis with almost a skip in his step.

 

But now, having seen the anxiety that the mere idea of learning caused her, and then heard her address him as a Seer, his light mood had soured. _Damn Unanimity._

Well, calling him a Seer was a relatively minor thing, easily corrected. He controlled his frustration, and said with polite insistence, “Please, you _must_ call me Hae-Joo.” Let him never hear that word combined with his name from her again.

She was startled, but complied. “Hae-Joo…” He couldn’t help an involuntary shiver as she looked at him and spoke his name for the first time... and did he imagine, or did she notice this?

But then she quickly looked away from him and the digis once more, reverting to her familiar, if broken conditioning. “Fabricants can be xcised for this.”

He nodded in acknowledgement of the fact. But they were both well aware that she had crossed that line already, days ago. She had moved irreversibly into this strange new world, and he knew that despite her anxiety, her mind was ripe for this, the next step in her journey.

“Well, survival often demands our courage,” he said in a low voice. For an instant, a dark-skinned face flashed across his memory, with earnest, desperate eyes...

He looked back at Sonmi with compassion. The courage that she needed to begin her study was the same courage she had shown yesterday when she followed him out of the diner, leaving slavery behind. She had done so because she wanted to live; she had chosen to trust him when he told her what she must do if she wanted to live. She had known that there would be no turning back.

Now, in order for her to begin to understand her life, and thus to live freely, she must continue to trust him. In doing so, she would have to let go of all she knew. He knew it was immensely frightening for her, but he was also certain that she could do it. She _must_ believe him... for he believed in her, even before she could herself.

All of this passed between them without a word. She looked back at him, and he saw that she understood. Then, she came to view the digis.

 

He briefly demonstrated how to manipulate them and how to pull up additional references for anything she wanted. Then he started the Solzhenitsyn vidi and left her to it.

“ _Art is not defiled by our efforts, neither does it thereby depart from its true nature, but on each occasion and in each application it gives to us a part of its secret inner light…”_ As Hae-Joo moved away, he could already see her anxiety giving way to intense concentration. He watched her closely for a few minutes and saw no signs of further trauma.

That relieved him immensely. He had hated seeing her suffer.

He blocked the vidi’s sound from his aural nerve and, in the silence, contemplated the duty ahead. It had been decided by Union in advance that the ascending fabricant would never be left alone, and that it would be best for her to have a single figure as guardian and mentor for the first few highly confusing and risky days. One person to watch for and deal with any trauma, to answer the questions she would doubtless have during her studies, and to flee with her and protect her if the Enforcers burst in… as they could at any moment.

Hae-Joo, who had been in on the plan from the beginning, had strongly pushed this concept. The fewer people involved, the more quick and focused the fabricant’s learning would be, the less dangerously overwhelming the beginning of her new life. He had an escape plan he could implement within seconds; while he hoped they would never have to use it, he believed that his usual allies of speed, strength, precision and surprise would enable him to get them out safely if they did. Frankly, he had felt that he was the only agent in Nea So Copros with the unique skill set required for this duty.

There was one other he would have trusted, his old friend Mitchell, without whom they never would have developed this plan in the first place. But Mitchell was a Union spy, working high up in the Unanimic hierarchy of United AmerCorpia for many years now. He had been the one to access the secret fabricant research of a coalition of AmerCorporations, and he had been the first to conceive the idea of recruiting a fabricant to the Union cause. The idea had been embraced by all the rebel collectives, and agents had been searching for fabricants with the potential for free will all over the world ever since. However, in over a year of searching, only two such fabricants had been discovered, and both had been here in Neo Seoul. Hae-Joo knew Mitchell would long to meet her, the flesh-and-blood, free-willed fabricant of his dreams; perhaps one day, he would have the opportunity…

But for the beginning of her journey, General Apis had agreed that Hae-Joo was the best choice to guard and guide her during her ascendance. For the next few days, until he believed her ready to be brought out of isolation, Sonmi-451 would be his sole responsibility.

Direct communication between the flat and Union during this period was to be by brief coded signals, except in dire emergency. Hae-Joo waited until she had been studying steadily for fifteen minutes. Then he sent, _All proceeding very well._

Afterward, he spun his spare orison and ate a couple protein packs while reading through the most recent officer communiqués. As usual, the rebellion was struggling on all fronts just to survive, and not be exterminated like vermin. He finished perusing the weapons digis he had pulled up the previous night. Then he put in a couple hours of exercise, followed by a quick shower. He listened to a lot of music as the hours went by—shinawi, late 20th century American rock, centuries-old symphonies, all fed by his sony straight to his aural nerve so as not to disturb her, and on lowest priority in case anything else required his attention.

But almost the entire time Hae-Joo occupied himself, he also watched her. And as morning flowed into afternoon, he was amazed by her concentration.

She read and watched all of his selections, opened countless references and read all of those; constantly started new docuvidis, paused and resumed and skipped among them, opened references for references and read those too… on and on and on, with no sign of tiring. Such starting and stopping and dancing among topics would have driven him crazy, but she seemed to thrive on it. And she paid him not the slightest bit of attention, whether to ask him a question or even to notice what he was doing.

Over the first hour or so, her expression shifted from somber focus to passionate engagement. The speed of her reading also increased, exponentially—no one had been able to guess how well fabricants of her stemtype, or any for that matter would be able to read Consumer material, as it was something they never did. However, she appeared to be capable of reading just as fast as Hae-Joo could, which was saying something, as he was both naturally quick and better educated than the average Consumer. Sometimes she gave an excited vocalization, and she appeared utterly delighted by frequent flashes of new understanding.

She was showing far more curiosity and intelligence than Union had ever hoped to see in a fabricant, even Yoona-939. It was like watching a flower blossom. It should have been a rather boring day for Hae-Joo, yet he couldn’t recall a more engaging one in recent memory… and it was all through observation of her.

He guessed focus and single-mindedness _were_ traits for which fabricants were genomed and conditioned. They were intended to work long hours without pause or distraction, to give efforts as fresh at the end of a nineteen hour shift as at the beginning, and to make no mistakes. Yet to see such untiring concentration, intended for slave labor but now employed in learning was… beautiful. And what made it most gorgeous of all was how clearly Sonmi was enjoying herself.

At late afternoon, Hae-Joo felt the stimulant beginning to wear off. He considered whether to take another dose right then or to let himself sleep for an hour first. He had been prepared to stay awake for the entire first forty-eight hours she was in his charge, or even longer; however, it seemed that wouldn’t be necessary. He did want to be able to watch her sleep again that night, and possibly subsequent nights, as waking up had been the only time she had shown panic thus far.

He had to admit to himself that he didn’t mind watching her at any time. But he couldn’t take stimulants indefinitely; fatigue would catch up eventually, with a vengeance. However, he could prolong the time before the inevitable crash through some judicious naps. It made sense to rest now, while she remained happily occupied, and save the next dose for the night, when she seemed more vulnerable.

“Sonmi...” he said softly, hating to interrupt her.

She swiftly turned to face him for the first time since she had begun to view the digis; she appeared pleased that he had spoken to her. _What a silly thought._ Yet she _did_ seem pleased, as she gazed at him... and he realized he had trailed off before adding her numerical suffix.

The only other time he had used her name in her presence had been in the diner, a moment after he first glimpsed her, complete with suffix, but it had felt awkward to him then. He had been opposed to the principle of model and make designations for fabricants for a long time already, and it felt even more wrong in practice to give a timid, “fabricated,” yet no less human creature a numerical designation when he addressed her. But it was part of her name; the make number differentiated her from hundreds of other fabricants that shared the same features as her.

The Union audio chip had picked up Yoona-939 addressing her sister by her model name and, instead of the number, a subspeak suffix signifying kinship. This mode of address seemed to have been a particularity of Yoona-939, and in fact, fabricants rarely had occasion to address one another at all.

But individual Papa Song venues never contained more than one fabricant of a particular model, except for those few minutes a year when a replacement arrived for an older model being led off to… retirement. So other than a few short minutes at the beginning of her servitude, she had been the only Sonmi in the diner for her entire life. And she had at least once been called by her name, without a number, by her first, now deceased friend. And so, Hae-Joo decided to call her just _Sonmi_ from now on.

It was fitting for him to mentally rename her at that moment, because her face had visibly changed since the morning. The stimulation and pleasure of learning had made it glow, and brought new liveliness to her eyes. He couldn’t help smiling at her; then, he stifled a yawn.

“I’m going to sleep for an hour. You can call me if you need anything, I’ll wake up.”

She gazed at him silently, her expression suddenly concerned. “Uh... is that okay with you?” he asked gently. He could certainly stay awake, if she preferred.

She seemed to consider it carefully for a moment, but then she nodded.

It amused him that she had considered the question so thoroughly. _How kind of her, after due reflection, to permit me a bit of rest._ He needed neither darkness nor a bed to sleep, but since a mat and extra bedding had come with the habitat furnishings, he might as well get comfortable. He got the mat and pillow out of the closet, placed them at a respectful distance from her, and lay down fully dressed—best to be ready for anything, phaser and tranquilizer in his pocket. He programmed a wake-up in an hour on his sony, and fell asleep swiftly.


	4. Reflection

It seemed that the wake-up trilled in his ear only a minute later, but he was far too well trained for anything as mundane as sleepiness to interfere with him getting up when he had to. Besides that, his thoughts were so instantly of Sonmi, that nothing could have kept his eyes from opening to check on her.

To his surprise, she was looking straight at him as he sat up and turned to her. Well, she had probably heard him stir. But once again, she looked as if she were trying to figure out something… almost as if she were working on a complex mathematical problem in her head.

“Do you have a question?” he heard himself ask.

He couldn’t help hoping she would ask him something, anything, and he felt a bit disappointed when she blinked and shook her head. Still, she kept staring at him, and he at her.

He finally broke the surreal fascination of it all by clearing his throat and standing up. He quickly downed his next dose of stimulant. While he waited for it to kick in, he got ready for another round of exercise. There was nothing else to do, and it would help clear his grogginess.

But then, he felt hesitant to take off his shirt and begin. What was the matter with him? He always exercised without a shirt… was it because of her? But he had done it that morning without a second thought, while she sat right there. What was different now?

 _The difference is, she’s watching you now,_ the voice in his head told him.

He didn’t look in her direction, but he could see out the corner of his eye that it was true. While that morning, she had remained completely absorbed in her study as he moved about, she was now quite clearly sneaking glances at him between her digis.

 _So?_ She was ascending, and curious. It was all natural… even good. He would just have to shut her out somehow, or he’d go crazy with self-consciousness.

He had already done his usual speed and strength training that morning, so after warming up, he started a challenging series of lifts and poses that required more concentration, and wouldn’t give him many chances to look at her. He focused inward while he slowly went through the series, and as he lost himself in the exercises, he allowed his thoughts to wander.

He was just used to solitude; to spending much of his time, whether on Union missions or not, alone. And now he was unaccustomed to his new charge’s constant, close presence. That was it.

He was an introverted minimalist, largely by necessity, yet also by taste. He had a flat similar this one in a tower several blocks away that he used often enough, but it wasn’t his home. If he had a home at all, it was in Union, and by proxy Old Seoul, where Union met and coordinated all their efforts. His life revolved around his work with the rebellion, and he had a strong bond with his comrades. But that was rooted in their desperately united, seemingly doomed efforts to change their world, rather than an independent interpersonal connection… at least now. Some among the rebels had been close friends when they first found their way to Union as youths, but the struggle cut short many friendships, and superseded them all.

On the exceedingly rare occasion Hae-Joo fancied a bit of light conversation, he could find it at a social-bar. On the slightly less rare occasion he wanted sex, he went out and found that, too, often, though not always, at the social-bar’s equivalent for those with a sensual urge. It was never too difficult to meet someone he found reasonably attractive, and freely willing to exchange nothing more than sexual release.

This willingness was essential to him. Although casual trade among Consumers of sex for small gifts and favors was normal enough, it had always seemed ugly to him. He had steered clear of the ubiquitous houses of sub sexworkers after a single, conventional visit in his youth. Though he had left with both curiosity and urges satisfied, the place had disturbed his soul, before he heard the word Union or had any real knowledge of the twin forces of poverty and brutality that drove the sub sextrade. Before he knew why, the wrongness of the place had conveyed itself to him. There was a hopelessness behind the sexworkers' seductive glances, an utter lack of joy concealed in their deftly practiced eroticism... and many of them had been younger than him, some shockingly so. Still, such venues were quite popular among pure-bloods who preferred to simply pay credits for sex with other pure-bloods, with no other consideration.

The many fabricant sex establishments, offering everything from super-quickies to so-called deluxe experiences with a bewildering variety of endlessly smiling models, had failed to draw him in even once. Back when he was a young Consumer schooled in Unanimic doctrine, he had thought his lack of interest was because fabricants were not really human beings; a preference which plenty of other Consumers seemed to share, since the sub sexhouses would otherwise have long gone out of business. But not much later, Hae-Joo realized the truth: such establishments chilled him because the fabricants genomed and conditioned for that form of “service” were just as human as he was.

He had had a handful of physical infatuations with free individuals that lasted a bit longer than his usual one or two encounters, periods of uncomplicated mutual pleasure. Yet he had never felt a deeper connection to any of those partners, nor had any of them probed past his lies into the real nature of his vague “work.”

True intimacy seemed to be something found only in the old pre-Unanimic stories, yet another aspect of life lost to authoritarian repression and Consumer culture. In any case, neither social nor sexual diversions occupied more than a tiny space in his adult life.

He hadn’t really had friends when he was young, until those formative adolescent years that set him inexorably on the path to Union. Since he had been born into the privileged Consumer class, everything supposedly required for a convenient and enjoyable life had been readily available to him. And that seemed to be enough for the vast majority of his fellow elites; however, Hae-Joo had found himself discontented and lonely from a very early age. Science and athletics, both of which he excelled at, had offered him just enough stimulation to get by at school. But in his free time, he had found himself depressingly bored and unable to connect with his apathetic parents, shallow peers, and the constant, inane entertainment and advertising Unanimity practically forced down Consumers’ throats.

Then, Hae-Joo had slowly discovered and sought refuge in old pre-Unanimic books, vidis, and music. Somehow, these works from the time before Consumer culture was fully entrenched drew him powerfully, offering beauty, freshness and inspiration he could find nowhere else. Gradually, he also became active in the scattered networks of fanclubs for such works. And among the fans, he finally found peers with whom he shared common interests, and a human respite from his loneliness. A few of the fans eventually became real friends.

At first Hae-Joo had only sought out literature, music and vidis that were officially available. But some works were more controversial than others, and they were often harder to track down. Inevitably, the suppressed works began to draw him strongly when he reached his teens, to his parents’ consternation. Censorship had only tightened as he grew up, with many of his favorites getting outright banned, their fanclubs forced underground. This very crackdown had provided him his gateway to the highly secret, ever-hunted rebellion as a young teen.

A couple of his more hardcore fanclubs started meeting in grimy hovels in Old Seoul after curfew. It took him a little time, but Hae-Joo soon mustered up the courage to join them. And he found himself fascinated by the liveliness of the filth and disorder, the struggle of the desperately poor subs, the emptiness in the eyes of fabricants and pure-bloods alike forced to sell themselves on the streets, and much more that he saw in the old city.

He came across a cryptic leaflet or two that referred to “the Movement,” with what seemed to be coded directions to a meeting. He couldn’t have found the meeting even if he had wanted to, and always left the leaflets where they lay, half afraid one of the occasionally patrolling Enforcers would spot him looking at them. Like most everyone, he had heard the words before, and he knew what they referred to: self-proclaimed enemies of Unanimity, subject to immediate euthanasia. While sneaking out after curfew and skulking across Neo Seoul into the old city as he had taken to doing was no joke, it didn’t come with a death sentence…. just a few weeks in the Neo Seoul prison.

But Hae-Joo found his curiosity rising. After all, many of the creative works he loved were also condemned by Unanimity, as was the entire network of crowded and dirty slums that made up the old city… which excited him far more than the city of massive, glittering towers on the other side of the damway, where he came from. It was simply easier for the time being for the authorities to let the slums stand and rot, than to raze them and get rid of all the wretched subs.

There was _life_ in Old Seoul. That was what excited him _._ He had a feeling it was the relative neglect of the authorities that allowed its heart to beat so strongly… and, just perhaps, it also had something to do with this Movement.

Then again, the leaflets might be planted by the Enforcers themselves to ensnare any would-be dissidents. But as Hae-Joo began to spend less and less time at home, and ever more time in Old Seoul, both meeting his friends and wandering the streets alone, he wondered more and more about the mysterious rebellion. Did it even exist at all? If so, what were its goals, and what could it possibly hope to accomplish?

It was a younger boy named Jae, a member of one of Hae-Joo’s clubs and another for some recently censored, hundred-fifty-year-old mystery series that Hae-Joo didn’t even like, who uncovered additional clues… including the most important one.

The kid had been a bit of a know-it-all, and liked to act as if he’d already figured out all the rebels’ secrets himself. Hae-Joo shared his fascination, but he’d warned him more than once about running off his mouth with Movement rumors in fanclub meetings and elsewhere. But Jae just wouldn’t shut up. He claimed to be conducting his own investigation on the streets, that he could figure out who knew bits of information and wouldn’t report him to Enforcers for asking. He eagerly and recklessly spread everything he managed to find out, true or not.

There were already whispers that the Enforcers were tracking the fans of forbidden works; they were, in truth, minor dissidents themselves. Hae-Joo’s clubs were now constantly changing meeting places even in Old Seoul, often at the last minute, in the hopes of avoiding being monitored. They were wary of accepting any new members, for fear of informers, and slowly, all but the most hardcore fans were just ceasing to show up as censorship increased and punishments for even minor offenses got more severe. They really, really didn’t need their activities to get even riskier thanks to Jae blabbing what could well be nonsense all over the place. However, as annoying as it was, Jae did whet Hae-Joo’s curiosity with his tidbits.

A leader had risen to unite the rebels, and he was called An-Kor Apis. He was from Afrasia, and he had formerly been a Chief Enforcer. The Movement existed in all twelve states, and even in the four off-world colonies. In Neo Seoul, it only formally met underground—literally. It was said that among the world’s megapoleis, the Movement was strongest in Neo Seoul, and so, Apis chose to base himself here. And the Movement maintained an apparently limitless online library of forbidden artistic and scientific materials… it was that last rumor that tantalized Hae-Joo the most.

However, for all his posturing, it took Jae an embarrassingly long time to discover that a member of his own mystery fanclub, a quiet teenager who’d recently stopped coming to meetings, was an actual sympathizer for the rebellion and even planned to join. That youth must given him a much-needed lecture about watching his mouth, because Jae was more careful about what he said after that.

Jae did do Hae-Joo the favor of convincing the young sympathizer of his trustworthiness, and arranging for the two to meet. And in that first conversation with him, an AmerCorpian his age named Mitchell, Hae-Joo finally got the answers to his questions… and his eyes were opened.

Upon hearing that the Movement really and truly existed, that the rebels called it Union and its purpose was to spread freedom and truth, Hae-Joo felt as if he had been handed one of his life’s crucial keys: heretofore unknown, and therefore not consciously missed, but for which he had been searching for his entire life thus far. It was almost like something he had already found and known in the distant past, only to lose… yet now he had found it again.

Like all Consumers, Hae-Joo had known long before he visited the old city that subs lived harsh lives; that they were routinely killed if they attempted to rise too high above their station, or, more rarely, if they became too numerous or otherwise troublesome. He was also well aware that fabricants’ existence consisted of genoming, accelerated growth in wombtanks, six months of rigid behavioral conditioning followed by memory erasure, twelve years of labor, and finally, “processing.” Young Consumers were even taught about it in school. All of this wasn’t exactly pleasant to think about, but it seemed natural and appropriate—as long as you believed the Unanimic dogma that subs were inferior humans, suited to lower lives, and that fabricants were not really human beings at all.

Under the rules of Unanimity, subs, the much larger class of pure-bloods, had the right to live and work in impoverished misery; they were simply not born to have the easy, pleasant life of the Consumer elite. But fabricants had no rights of any sort; they were not born at all. They were products manufactured by Corporations to do work for pure-bloods, primarily Consumers. Fabricants did not think or feel as pure-bloods did; they were perfectly engineered and conditioned for their particular work and circumstances. They appeared content, or at least calmly obedient, wherever you saw them. This all fit the natural order.

Had Hae-Joo really believed this? Or had he simply shoved his discomfort to the back of his mind, and refused to question it? To his day, he wasn’t sure exactly what Mitchell had said in that first conversation to turn his world upside down… other than the truth: subs and fabricants were human beings, just as he was.

They experienced pain and pleasure, just as he did. They had thoughts and emotions, just as he did. They were no less deserving of a good life than he was, nor did they suffer any less in their harsh circumstances than he would. The subs were simply taught that they did not deserve any better, while the fabricants were ruthlessly genomed and conditioned to withstand their suffering better... and to conceal it. The fabricants differed from pure-bloods as a result of the brutal physical and mental control Unanimity wielded over them, not by their essential nature.

If one believed that any human beings had souls, then _all_ of them must… even those grown in a wombtank. To treat one human being as less than another was evil. The entire system of Unanimity was based on such discrimination, and was, therefore, evil.

What was more, Consumers were in their own way as much controlled by Unanimity as the subs and fabricants. Consumers took their comfortable, pleasure-filled lives for granted, but if one spoke a word against the system, one’s life could suddenly be worth less than that of a functional fabricant. The massive prison building, which dominated all the skyscrapers in Neo Seoul, was filled with Consumers now labeled deviants, criminals and dissidents. All prisoners were cruelly isolated, and only a fortunate few minor offenders returned to the outside world otherwise unscarred. A large number became the subjects of Unanimic medical and psychological experiments, while many others were sentenced to euthanasia. The mere sight of the prison, toweringly visible from every corner of the city, was a constant reminder of Unanimity’s power to crush those who broke its laws.

Unanimity forced its agenda into all aspects of Consumer life. All writings, vidis, music, scientific journals, and other creative endeavors were subject to Board publishing approval. Works created without Corporate oversight were seldom approved, and thus condemned to oblivion. Consumers were drilled in Unanimic dogma in school as children, kept busy in meaningless, Board-selected jobs as adults, and pressured to buy and consume as much Corporate food, merchandise and entertainment as possible throughout their lives. The Board enforced compulsory sexual sterilization on Consumer youths and maintained strict eugenic control over all reversals, conceptions and births. It also held approval over all medical treatments, and readily scheduled euthanasia for Consumers, young and old, that it deemed unprofitable to keep alive.

All human beings had the right to live freely. Unanimity deprived human beings of this right. Therefore, Unanimity must be opposed and ultimately destroyed.

Hae-Joo did not know why only he, Mitchell, and apparently few others had come to believe this truth, in comparison with the billions under Unanimic control. He knew his own parents were incapable of grasping it, and he did not even try to explain his awakening to them. Perhaps the lies were simply too deeply entrenched, the truth too inconvenient… as inexorable and inconvenient as the deadlands gradually claiming nearly every corner of the earth that had once been green, and the oceans slowly rising to cover almost every large city in the world.

But Hae-Joo knew that even if his resistance to Unanimity amounted to no more than a drop in one of those oceans, he could no longer be part of it of its system… and even if the world as he knew it was doomed to destruction, he would devote himself to the cause of spreading the truth among humanity before its end.

The off-world colonies might survive. They were barely populated, each a tiny microcosm of a Unanimic state, with hardly any Union presence. In the earth’s vast cities, at least, there were still places where rebels could disappear, while the colonies had none. But more importantly, they supported life and were somewhat self-sufficient. They just might carry on independently after the cataclysmic fall the earth seemed headed for.

Even if only a few of earth’s children endured after the fall, somewhere in the galaxy, to carry on humanity... even if none endured at all... Union owed it to the infinite collective of human souls, past and future, to spread the truth while it could. Every person who learned and shared the truth was another drop of water… and a multitude of drops could form an ocean.

And so Hae-Joo had followed Mitchell, and officially joined the rebellion.

Like most Union members, Hae-Joo had completely cut all ties to his former life. He had already begun to spend days on end in Old Seoul, and he wondered briefly when his parents would notice that he was gone for good this time. He sent them no message of goodbye, nor did he ever communicate with them again. Better to let them think he’d been murdered by some desperate sub, or thrown in prison for his growing deviance… for their safety, as well as his. Despite his lack of connection with them, the decision did cause him pain; yet he never regretted it.

His connection with Mitchell had grown strong indeed, as they passionately dedicated themselves to the relentless training and desperate innovation required to oppose Unanimity. They had spent the first year side by side in Nea So Copros, pushing and encouraging one another, sharing almost every experience, whether triumph or suffering. And Mitchell had always seemed to understand what Hae-Joo thought and how he felt, without him even having to say it.

Then, Mitchell had been sent back to United AmerCorpia to work as a spy for the world Union collective. He was now one of their greatest assets, a crucial source and channel of information, having attained a very high position in the Consumer ranks and close Board connections. Meanwhile, Hae-Joo had served as both field agent and science officer in Neo Seoul, rising to join Union’s top leadership in Nea So Copros. Since they had begun their separate assignments, he had had no personal contact with the man who had so profoundly influenced him during their youth. He thought from time to time of how difficult it must be for Mitchell to play a top Consumer so perfectly, knowing how deeply the man espoused the ideals of the Movement. Yet Mitchell, while reading others brilliantly, had always been good at playing his own feelings close to the chest, and everything he did was for the greater good of the Movement. Hae-Joo still considered Mitchell the best friend he had had in his life.

A number of Hae-Joo’s other friends and acquaintances from the underground fanclubs also eventually joined Union, including Jae, who had become like an annoying yet dear younger brother to him. But within a year of joining, at age seventeen, Jae was killed along with twenty other teens when Enforcers stormed a meeting he had set up himself to recruit fans into the rebellion. Jae had been reckless, but he had been so eager, and so brave… it had been the first time Hae-Joo grieved for a friend, and the last time he had wept. And he had wished Mitchell could have been there with him, to mourn the death of the boy who had brought them together.

As the years went by, several of Hae-Joo’s other old friends and plenty of the comrades he made after joining Union were also killed. Others simply disappeared; they were either wasting away in prison or experiments, or dead by now as well. Hae-Joo had mourned them all, but he had never been able to shed tears again after Jae.

All of the rebels were likely to lose both their lives and their cause soon if they could not force a turning point in their fight, overwhelmed as they were by the crushing intrusion of Unanimity into every sphere of life. And that was where the audacious plan of discovering, rescuing and mentoring a free-willed fabricant to speak for their cause came in.

Mitchell, in one of the few times Hae-Joo had seen his face since their training, had been the first to voice the concept. It had come to him after he obtained access to data from Unanimic research in a number of areas, including fabricants. He had introduced the idea a little over a year ago during a digi meeting of Union leaders and agents in all twelve states, plus one brave contact from each of the four off-world colonies.

All had swiftly agreed on the idea's brilliance, on the incredible impact it would bring the rebellion… if they could just find a fabricant who had begun ascendance, _somewhere_. In over a year of searching throughout the world, the Union agents had found none… until they discovered Yoona-939’s unfolding awakening. And then, Yoona-939 decided to wake Sonmi-451.

Because he was most familiar with the research on fabricant conditioning and had himself birthed the idea of recruiting a fabricant to Union, Mitchell had consulted by communiqué in the Nea So Copros collective’s discussions on Yoona-939 and Sonmi-451. Mitchell had supported Hae-Joo’s push to break both fabricants out as soon as possible, despite the increased risk involved in a double escape and ascendance, and the belief of many that Sonmi-451 was not ready and would jeopardize the whole mission. Unfortunately for Yoona-939, Hae-Joo and Mitchell had been overruled by the majority of the leaders, General Apis chief among them.

As he balanced on one hand, Hae-Joo found himself focusing again on the single known ascending fabricant that remained in the world. She was upside down in his current view; still, he could tell that she was looking at him. She quickly turned back to her digis, but he had a feeling she had been watching him steadily for a while.

 _Let her._ He felt much calmer now. It was all right for her to look. With the life she had had, and all that she was managing to do now, she had the right to do just about anything, as far as he was concerned.

He continued his series for another hour, allowing himself to observe her continuing study when he could. She was going at an even quicker pace than she had earlier, yet paradoxically, she also seemed more relaxed. But she was just as prettily engaging to watch as she read and learned… murmuring to herself, manipulating the digis with her nimble fingers, her expressions changing thoughtfully... it filled him with pleasure to watch her. And he allowed himself to be aware of her turning to watch _him_ now and then, and focused elsewhere when she did. Somehow, it no longer bothered him. 

Amusingly, she seemed to have become aware that _he_ was observing her as well. He could not have said how he knew; something in the way she glanced up occasionally, in his general direction though not directly at him, before, apparently, losing herself in her studies again... she could as easily have been reflecting on something she had read or seen, but he thought not. He pretended not to notice that she was aware of his attention; she had the right to her awareness. It even felt good to have her so near, and that she knew he was watching her... as if she belonged there...

As he reached the end of his series, he felt fully awake and refreshed, the stimulant having kicked in nicely. He lowered himself to his feet from his final pose, and went to the cupboard to help himself to another protein pack.

She probably wouldn’t want her liquid protein until just before she slept in a few hours—and suddenly, it occurred to him that she had been sitting and kneeling the entire day, while he had shifted around and worked out for hours. She was used to being physically active for nineteen hours a day in the diner. It would only be healthy to get her moving a bit now.

“Sonmi,” he said softly for the second time, enjoying the feel of her name on his lips. And she seemed pleased to hear it again, too, turning to him with clear eagerness.

“Would you like to move around a bit? You’ve been studying all day. I can put on an exercise program for you.”

She stood up slowly. She didn’t really know what he was talking about, but she seemed ready to try something else new. He pulled up a simple, effective program on the orison and showed her a demo on the habitat screen.

“That’s how you’ll start,” he said, as the model lay on her back and slowly lifted one leg upward, pointing and flexing her foot. “The program will show you exactly what to do, and adapt itself to you. The mirror will be lightly visible, so you can match the model’s movements.”

Her eyes had gotten that wide, awed look again. “Okay—why don’t you put something else on?”

He looked through the closet, came across a short, strapless dark blue bodysuit, and wondered why on earth he had gotten that for her. He certainly hadn’t been thinking of workout attire when he’d hurriedly ordered her wardrobe… it must be part of a set in one of the collections. But it should do for now, it looked... tight. Perfect for exercise. And she was sure to look stunning in it...

 _Seriously, Chang?_ he thought as he handed it to her, and she left to change.

But he couldn’t quite control his thoughts; he was only a man, of flesh and blood. What he could do was be polite, and not gawk when she came out or while she exercised.

Despite his best efforts not to look directly her way, his eyes landed on her for a single, admiring moment when she emerged. He turned away before she could catch him staring; the last thing he wanted to do was embarrass her, and she probably felt exposed enough as it was. Though she was used to wearing those tiny fabricant outfits and shifts… well, no matter. He controlled herself, and watched her only peripherally as she went slowly to the screen and lay down, matched the model’s first pose, and began to work her way through the series.

She had a beautiful body, strong despite her apparent delicacy, and a natural, supple grace… she was only a few minutes in, and he realized he was well and truly staring at her.

Fortunately, she seemed absorbed in the movements and oblivious to him. So he went and had another quick, cool shower, and occupied himself when he came out with a little reading of his own. With his back to her… just to be safe.

Reminiscing on his fanclub days had made him nostalgic for the old books and vidis that had started him on his journey to the rebellion, and to the present day. He opened the Union link, digited that mystery series Jae had been such a fan of, and began to skim the first book. In it, the feisty young journalist of the title had a chance encounter with a quiet old physicist seeking to share a dangerous truth… only to discover him dead soon after, shot through the mouth in his hotel room. Later, she met a conflicted younger physicist struggling to make a moral stand, but then he, too, was eliminated by the same dark force that had begun to hunt her… finally, the crucial missing report resurfaced in a most unexpected way, revealing a deadly conspiracy at an early nuclear power plant.

Even though mysteries weren’t his thing, he could tell this one had every cliché in the genre. That had probably left him lukewarm the first time he read it, too. But the story, to its credit, revolved around a bold indictment of a malignant Corporation. Perhaps that was both why it had survived to this day, and why it had been censored by Unanimity… the current Corporations couldn’t have appreciated its similarity to them.

Strange, to think how some works of art survived the ages to be reread, re-seen and reheard, while others were lost forever. But then, no work or deed was ever truly lost… works were recreated and deeds redone, with ever changing meaning to the people who experienced them when they resurfaced.

He closed the mystery series and, on a whim, digited the original screenplay of Sonmi’s beloved Tim Cavendish. The screenplay was actually banned, though somehow the vidi had slipped through the censors—probably because it appeared to be a silly, hammy farce on the surface... that lead actor was so horrible, he was almost wonderful. But the themes of the story itself were of escaping imprisonment, and trading selfishness for cooperation; of taking risks for friends, and achieving freedom and rebirth… all very dangerous ideas to Unanimity. Hence the censorship. The ideas came through all the more purely when one simply read the screenplay’s pages, as Hae-Joo had a long time ago, unable to resist checking out the original, forbidden version of the story.

It supposedly written by Tim Cavendish himself, after his own life experiences… Hae-Joo wondered what he had really been like. How much of his story had been the truth, and how much of it elaborated, or completely made up… perhaps so the author could cast himself in a more favorable light? Although, Cavendish didn’t write himself an altogether sympathetic character at the beginning. He came off as a bumbling, flakey sort in the introduction, pompous and self-deprecating at the same time—quite an entertaining combination, actually. Maybe that was all the author had been after, whatever had truly happened.

There were some very funny moments strewn throughout the story, like the darkly hilarious incident at the beginning, when a thug threw the smug critic who’d panned his book off a roof. Hae-Joo hoped that he never came across a character like that in real life… though he could certainly handle him if he did. And that bit of random slapstick toward the end, when a helpful drunk smashed a keg over the head of the brutal nurse from the elderly home… a scene which Hae-Joo found exceedingly, and somehow personally, amusing.

Cavendish the character had a nice arc; his misadventures led him to cast in his lot with some charming elderly comrades, with whom he bust triumphantly out of the elderly home, becoming a bit of a hero. It really was cute. And he even got back together with his long-lost sweetheart in the end: icing on the cake, as they used to say.

He sensed someone behind him, and turned to see Sonmi. _Who else could it be?_ he thought wryly.

Her session completed, she looked pleasantly exerted, her face, bare arms, upper chest and long, slender legs all wearing a light sheen of sweat. He swallowed hard; hoped she didn’t notice, and smiled at her, focusing on her glowing eyes. “Did you like it?”

She nodded; and after a moment, she smiled... seemingly nervous with the unaccustomed expression of a genuine smile, as opposed to one for diner Consumers... nervous yet sincere, and utterly charming.

She glanced eagerly at his digis. “This is the written story of Tim Cavendish?”

He tore his eyes away from her, and looked back at them in surprise. She sure had skimmed the pages he had up quickly—or had she been reading behind him for a couple minutes already? She did move quietly.

“Yes, it’s the screenplay. I think it's even better by itself than the vidi they made of it...” He turned back to her, and had to swallow all over again. “If you want, you can read it before you go to sleep.”

She immediately started to sit down beside him, but he said gently, “Why don’t you shower and change first?”

If she sat next to him right now in that skimpy bodysuit, her skin glistening with sweat… _dear, sweet Humanity._

She was agreeable, choosing a white nightgown and a robe with pink flowers and disappearing into the bathroom. He let out a deep sigh of relief, and… not relief. Hunger. Longing.

 _Stop it, Chang! Just stop._ He must be insane. He shouldn’t even allow himself to dream of what was running through his head right now. His job was to protect and teach her; it was fine to like her, but not to _want_ her like this. It was physical, and yet much deeper… an ache that went through his very being… he’d never felt this for anyone before. He had no business whatsoever feeling it for her; nonetheless, he did.

And yet, he and the rest of Union had based all their plans on the idea that a fabricant could completely ascend… could become entirely free of her conditioning, and able to make her own choices, based on her thoughts and feelings, like any other free human being…  
  
Perhaps, if… _when_ Sonmi reached that point, she could choose to… be with…

He could not permit himself to follow that line of thought any further. It was ridiculous for him to hope for such a thing. That she would fully ascend, yes, but that… _no_. His duty was to keep her alive and to help her learn. Once she had learned enough, Union would ask her to make an enormous decision, a choice of immeasurably greater significance than any longing that might ache through him.

And then, if she chose to do what they all hoped she would… unhappiness engulfed him like a void.

Yet Sonmi would know just what she was getting herself into, and exactly what was at stake. She would make her decision based on what she felt the cause was worth… just as Hae-Joo had, when he dedicated his life to the Movement.

Amidst such dark reflection, Hae-Joo realized that he had felt truly happy watching Sonmi enjoy herself so much over the course of the day… happier than he’d been since the inspirations of his youth, before they had led him to the dark truth of his world... happier than he could ever remember being in this life.

Even if he couldn’t be with her, he could be content if he only knew that _she_ would be happy, whatever happened. But he knew that that, too, was a futile dream in their harsh reality.

He distracted himself from such hopeless thoughts with a practical consideration: he had to deal with his physical desire. So far, he had touched Sonmi only in his role as guide and protector… guiding her first timid steps out of the diner… offering her a steady hand when she hesitated in front of the elevator, and positioning her beside him… it had felt right to help her with such little gestures. But now, he realized that he had also enjoyed the fleeting physical contact they provided.

He wouldn’t touch her again, unless it was truly necessary; surely, he had more than enough discipline for that. And she must never learn how he felt. If she ever did… suddenly the thought of Yoona-939 and Seer Rhee turned his stomach. _No._ He would protect her from all he could, including her ever feeling that she must give her body to a pure-blood's use simply because he wanted her to. It didn’t matter that what he felt went far beyond mere desire… that he could not conceive of _using_ her, ever... it didn’t matter at all. And she was coming out now.

She looked fresh and fetching in her pink-flowered robe, and his heart skipped a beat once again. He simply couldn’t help himself.

He turned away from her for a moment, and tried to pull himself together. He was a free being; he had the right to have feelings. He couldn’t force himself _not_ to feel them. That was what Unanimity conditioned fabricants to do, and it was wrong. It had been wrong for them to do to her, and it would be wrong for him to attempt on himself.

But neither would he force his feelings on her. She had too much to learn, and do, and be… however he might long for her, he would only be kind and respectful, and help her do what she must.

But he was allowed to feel happy again as she approached him, sat down beside him, and started to read Tim Cavendish. He was. He was also allowed to enjoy reading with her... he hadn’t planned to, but what else was there to do? So he stayed with her, and they read together.

They didn’t speak, but made eye contact when one or the other was ready to for the next digi-page. Sometimes he finished first, and sometimes she did; oddly, he did not feel awkward to meet her eyes so frequently. She didn’t seem to, either… but had she ever, really? He saw her briefly with red hair again, the two of them bent over the yellowed pages of a single, old-fashioned leatherbound book… meeting her green eyes before turning one of the delicate, paper leaves... yes, they had done this before.

Done _what?_ He dismissed that strange thought.

Even though he knew them all already, the funnier parts still got him close to snickering. Visions of the cheesy vidi were indelibly linked in his head to the descriptions in the screenplay, yet Cavendish's lanague in them was so darkly witty and humorous, that the author's imagined, sardonic voice somehow elevated the scenes in Hae-Joo's head. He stifled his snickers politely; that made her glance at him curiously. But her amusement was also evident, because her lips twitched toward a smile… whether at the story, or at him, he didn’t know.

An hour or so flowed pleasantly by as they read the entire screenplay, and somehow, he felt at peace. Just having her close by him, comfortable and content, was enough. He didn’t think about the future; he didn’t have to right now, nor did he want to. The present was too nice.

The manufacturers had eliminated the yawn reflex from fabricants. But when they finished the last page and he looked at her, he could tell that she would have yawned then if she could, despite her smile. No wonder: it was almost midnight, the time she usually retired.

Without him saying anything, she went and got herself a carton of liquid protein, returned to his side, and began to drink it in her slow, steady way... he could tell she was reflecting on the day as she drank, for subtle expressions flickered across her face, with none of the hypnotic blankness she had shown the previous night.

When she was finished she got up, carefully hung her pink-flowered robe in the closet, and went to her bed. She put the pillow and blanket aside, lying down on the mattress in just her white nightgown.

He sat by her bed, as he had the previous night. But now, he programmed the screen for ambient illumination resembling the sky outside, in which the smog reflected faint, diffuse light from the constantly bright city. It was dim, but not completely dark; he would still be able to see if anything drastic happened. He had a feeling nothing would, that night. He also silently increased the habitat temperature a bit. It would be a little balmy for him, but he wanted her to sleep comfortably, and not to worry about her getting cold without that blanket she didn’t seem to like.  
  
Her eyes were still open, but clearly tired. “Good night,” he bid her softly. She looked back at him, and her lips twitched slightly into another tiny, pretty smile. Then her eyes closed.

Quickly her breath settled into that swift, regular rhythm. He watched her quietly… tenderly... and let himself meditate once more.


	5. Searching

This time he saw the brown-skinned female journalist from Jae’s mysteries, poring over old letters and talking with a young boy who was scribbling on an envelope… a boy whose eager olive face somehow reminded him of that first friend he’d lost in the rebellion, that dear, reckless boy who’d been like his little brother.

Fittingly, General Apis was standing near them, powerful, serious, and persuasive, as always. But he was wearing a beige shirt instead of the usual white robe over his dark skin, and he held an archaic metal weapon, though he looked no less dangerous for it.

For a moment Hae-Joo saw their adversary, the similarly armed, cold-eyed killer for hire hunting the journalist as she searched for the truth. On the orders of a brutal corporate chief, the killer had shot the quiet old physicist in his hotel room for trying to share his report on the unsafety of a nuclear power plant. Then, the killer had bombed the conflicted young physicist’s plane for summoning the courage to give the journalist a copy. The journalist had barely survived his attempt on her own life, and she was desperate to obtain the report and reveal the truth before the killer could find her again… he had a familiar sneer.

The boy asked the woman why she kept reading the old letters, over and over again.

 _Maybe I’m just... trying to understand something,_ the journalist murmured, as the boy scribbled.

 _What?_ asked the boy.

 _Why we keep making the same mistakes, over and over…_ the woman said.

Then, the clever, eager boy noticed that his scribbling revealed faintly legible indentations on the old envelope: a name and address. The envelope had held letters from a youthful lost love, a mad young composer; the elderly physicist had carried them with him always, and the journalist had taken them from his dead body and read them, fascinated with the story they told. But the faint writing now revealed had been pressed into the envelope by chance, and much more recently; the journalist recognized the name of the old physicist’s niece, a scientist herself, of whom he had spoken with pride and affection. And the woman realized that he must have sent a copy of his report to his niece, at this very address. The last, crucial clue had been right beneath their eyes, all along…

But now the woman was dressed in fitted white that offset her brown skin, talking to his light-skinned, tattooed friend and relative with the blue gem around his neck. It was the gem that had been on his plate of offering to his ancestors… the gem that his relative had stolen for himself, just before abandoning him and his boy to the attacking savages.

Again, he saw the menacing tribesmen appear, and ordered his boy to hide; pulled his knife and looked for help, calling desperately. But again, no one came, and he was quickly and brutally overcome as he screamed his relative’s name, over and over. Again he saw his dear boy rush out bravely and recklessly to defend him, the young body swiftly pierced by an arrow; again, he wailed and wept in agony, just as he had when he came upon Jae’s bloody, shattered corpse.

But his friend, the light, tattooed man, was weeping too, where he cowered behind a rock as boy and then man were slaughtered. There was a demon in a dark suit hovering around him, taunting him as he wept. His rotting face had Boardman Mephi’s disdaining sneer, his ruthless, arrogant eyes…

Then, the light tattooed man and the white-clad brown woman were walking gingerly through a large, dimly lit dome, the floor covered with skeletons. It was a frightening, powerful place. The man was drawn to the woman, but he distrusted her too. She'd brought him up here, using her advanced tools and speaking her crazy ideas—like the notion that the _people_ , not the devil, had caused the fall of the previous age. The demon had warned him about her; he had told him not to believe her lies, and that they were trespassing here... he had even tried to make him drop her off the mountain on the way here. But Sonmi’s words had made him save her from falling instead.

Suddenly, he saw a massive statue of Sonmi herself, free and strong and invincible, gleaming out of the darkness ahead. The man gasped her name reverently… but then the statue was gone, and there was just Sonmi the woman, standing dressed in blue and purple in a high, windowed chamber, small and alone.

Now Hae-Joo could only see fire and smoke and hunched black shapes. But he could hear her voice, despite the chaotic, violent noises all around… and he knew the words she was speaking before she said them, for they were already written in his heart... _by each crime, and every kindness, we birth our future._

There was a deafening blast, a confusing blur of motion. Then he could see her up in the chamber again, but he couldn’t get to her. He was lying on the floor where the skeletons had been, would be, and his body wouldn’t move. Everything was turning dark… yet he could clearly see her face, and tears were spilling from her eyes. And even though she was crying, he was happy to look on her, one last time…

Again, the Sonmi sleeping before him awoke. Again, all that he had seen vanished from his mind.

But his happiness remained. Not only was she awake again, she sat up without panic and answered his soft, “Good morning” with a lovely, true smile... the fullest smile he had yet seen from her, touched with the golden-rose light of rising sunbeams.

The smog outside was the real reason for the rising sun’s incredible pink and yellow light, which the habitat screen duplicated. Yet he found the effect to be a very pretty accompaniment to the new day as he watched her put on her pink-flowered robe and head straight for the orison.

The next day passed much as the previous one had. She read and watched and read, educating herself with clear pleasure and seeming effortlessness about the world and herself. They both exercised in the morning, separately, neither directly watching the other nor looking completely away. He passed the rest of the time with small tasks and diversions while observing her, musing sometimes that he could never have predicted how easy and enjoyable his time as her guard and mentor would be—though he knew that could change at any moment.

As he woke from his nap early in the evening, he saw her standing in front of the mirror in her bodysuit. But she wasn’t exercising, she was just looking at herself… and there was something different about her appearance.

On her feet were the smart black shoes, similar to his own, that he’d gotten her. It was a bit odd for her to be wearing them inside, and with the bodysuit, no less—he was getting a little more used to seeing her in that. There was still something different about her.

He sat up and noticed drowsily that the closet was open, clothes and shoes strewn haphazardly both inside and on the floor in front of it. It looked like she had decided to try on everything in her wardrobe, and hadn’t bothered with the closet’s cleaning or organizing functions in the process.

 _Well, why not?_ In fact, it was great progress that she, former diner server, was following her own whims, rifling through her own pretty clothes without bothering to clean up afterward.

Suddenly, it occurred to him that she must have been dressing and undressing a couple meters away from him as he slept. There was no way had she gone into the bathroom each time…

 _Cut it out, Chang!_ It was embarrassing how his brain worked sometimes.

He got up to take another stimulant, wondering if he should excuse himself so that she could continue her personal fashion show. Yet there was nowhere he could go except the bathroom… but perhaps she had finished now. She was still contemplating her reflection, looking rather solemn, as he approached.

Then he realized that her two brightly colored hair locks, a feature of all fabricants at Papa Song’s diner, were missing... there they were, lying on the floor near her feet, orange and red with a few stray black strands. In her hand was a knife, and seeing it swiftly cleared the grogginess from his head.

In his abruptly heightened awareness, he also noticed that the fingernails of her hand were no longer orange with red tips. In fact, the last time he specifically remembered seeing the nail polish was when she still grasped her kino; she had likely used the all-cleaner on her fingers when she washed up the first night, and her toes as well. And now, she had apparently cut the last sign of Papa Song’s branding from her body. Aside from the rather disturbing fact that to do it, she had used a sharp blade for the first time, on her own head, while he slept, this was very good progress. And she wasn’t bleeding anywhere that he could tell.

He smiled at her reflection. “I like the change,” he said quietly.

Her hair also appeared to be longer as he looked at it closely. Yes, it was definitely lower on her forehead than it had been three days ago… than yesterday, even. _How fast can it grow?!_ That must be another manufactured feature for Papa Song servers, probably to keep their tresses full, shiny and youthful. Their automatic styling every morning after the hygiener had to include a trim; at this rate, her hair would be in her eyes in a couple weeks.

But even the slightly shaggier look suited her. Really, anything would.

She looked back at him through the mirror, unsmiling, but radiating poise and presence. _This is who I am now,_ she seemed to be saying. 

He wanted to pull her into his arms then, to press his lips to her fully black hair, her sweetly solemn face… but he was getting used to having and suppressing such urges. So he just stood there, gazing at her, until she moved away.

She put the knife back in the utensil drawer—he had almost forgotten it, but he did breathe a bit easier then. Then she walked toward the closet, gazing at the mess of clothes in and around it; he wondered again if she wanted to continue trying on outfits. Perhaps he should just turn around...

He wasn’t expecting her question. “Why did you help me?”

She was standing in front of the closet, rumpled clothing of all colors spilling every which way around her, in marked contrast to her sleek figure, minimally clad in dark blue. Her head was upturned, her posture straight, and he realized she had, consciously or unconsciously, discarded her timid, submissive pose of the first day or two. Was this, along with her newfound poise, a physical change meant to stick, like cutting her locks and removing the nail polish? Or was she trying it on to see if it suited her, much like her outfits?

His eyes held him steadily, ignoring the mess around her and demanding an answer… almost challenging him.

He chose his words carefully. She deserved a truthful answer, but he did not want to burden her with too much, too soon.

“My colleagues and I mean to create a free-willed fabricant.”

The barest flicker of her eyes. Who he and his colleagues were, and why they had that goal, could wait until she asked specifically. “We had to start with a fabricant who already wanted to be free, whom we could help. We found Yoona-939 first, then you. We—failed with her. We waited too long… but we got to you in time. You are our last hope.”

At the mention of her friend, Sonmi’s shoulders slumped, and her clear eyes blinked. Now they began to gleam with… tears? They must be. Compassion welled up in Hae-Joo. He remembered Jae’s death, the deaths of other comrades; he tried to imagine what it would have been like to have had only one friend in the world, and to watch that friend die.

But she had another friend now. He went to her, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. Her head bowed, almost touching his chest, as her eyes blinked rapidly. His arms twitched to go around her... yet something held him back.

He’d promised himself to touch her only if necessary, and to put his arms around her now... what did necessary mean, exactly? Had putting his hand on her shoulder really been necessary? It had been more than necessary, it had been so natural that he hadn’t even thought about it. It was just what you did when someone you cared about was upset. Wouldn’t it be better to offer even more... or would that only frighten her?

 _Observe her. Let her show you what she needs,_ he thought to himself. He kept his hand on her shoulder, but did nothing else, and watched Sonmi.

She hung there for a few moments, blinking, otherwise still. Then, it was as if something shut off inside her. She straightened up and walked without looking at him to the mirror... took off her shoes, and started her exercise program. And his heart sank in his chest, with a clear sense that he had done something wrong.

He’d had a strong urge to hug her, to let her cry against him… but he had tried to follow her lead. And she hadn’t cried; _she_ had broken contact. Yet it looked like she had simply buried her distress, as she’d been conditioned to do. And how could he expect her to know what she needed emotionally, when she had been forced for her whole life to ignore and frequently do the exact opposite of that very thing? He should have hugged her, but it was too late now. She was facing away from him, quite deliberately concentrating on her program.

He pushed all the clothes and shoes back into the closet in a jumbled heap, then clicked the all-cleaner-organizer and watched as everything flew swiftly back into fresh and folded order. But restored cleanliness was far from enough to cheer him up. He avoided looking at her as she exercised quietly in front of the screen.

All right, maybe this was his first real mistake here... but if it was the worst thing that happened, they could both consider themselves very fortunate. He could only move on.

Against normal custom, he started his own training session while Sonmi was still working out. He turned away from her, fed some wailing mid-20th century blues straight to his aural nerve, and couldn’t help smiling sadly. Her instinct had, in a way, been right—exercise could lift the spirits when all else failed. They both needed it now.

She finished before he did, and did seem to be feeling better as she left to shower and change. As soon as she emerged from the bathroom, she went to the orison and resumed her study.

Had he really assumed he’d be her mentor? She read and learned so voraciously on her own that he didn’t feel like one at all. She never asked him questions—well, this evening she’d posed the first question she’d had about anything, but it hadn’t even involved her research. From what he observed, she seemed to have no trouble comprehending anything she read or saw. He’d peeked a few times at her self-selected digis and found wildly varying material, from genomics to nuclear physics, from the ancient African slave trade to western classical music of the late Romantic period. She had even browsed general information on Union, but again, she hadn’t asked him anything about it. She had also taken to listening to musical samples as she read, turning them on and switching among them so suddenly and unpredictably, that since the morning he had again been filtering her explorations from his aural nerve, lest he get a headache.

She seemed to be developing her intellect quite splendidly all by herself. But he felt a little discouraged now about helping her develop her emotions.

Yet his spirits were more or less intact by the time he completed his exercises, and he brainstormed during his shower on what treat he could share with her that night. Another pre-Unanimic classic, certainly; a fun vidi. She deserved a break from reading. He had so, so many favorites from his youth… something in the action or superhero genre could be really enjoyable for her, some blockbuster, as they used to be called, of an earlier age… but preferably one with a bit of substance, and a message that could help her in her journey.

 _Of course._ He had it.

He dressed and came out. She was sitting with her digis, and they looked at each other directly for the first time since before his aborted hug of sympathy. She seemed timid again… almost fearful. Was she was afraid she had shown too much emotion in front of him? Once again, he kicked himself inside. But done was done, and he ought to go easier on himself; only that could make things easier on her. They were both in a new and challenging situation, trying to find their way. He knelt down beside her.

“It’s all right to feel sad about Yoona,” he said to her quietly. “It hurts when a friend dies. I lost a friend for the first time when he was still a boy, and I was barely a man—just like you and Yoona had barely begun to be free. I cried so hard when I saw his body… and I still think of him. I’ve lost many other friends, but I’m not able to cry for them anymore. I wish I could.”

He had never spoken of this out loud to anybody, and he certainly hadn’t meant to share so much about himself to her, now or ever. But he could feel the old, ever-fresh grief rising in him, that pain that could never find release in tears… and her eyes were gleaming again. Did he dream, or was there sympathy for _him_ in her face now?

But this was about her, not him. Another impulse came to him; this time, he trusted it, and took her hands in his own.

“Never be afraid to show your feelings, Sonmi," he said, his voice soft but vehement. "They are precious, and they are yours. They will help set you free.”

She looked back at him, then down at their hands, and began to blink rapidly again. He didn’t embrace her; he felt without knowing how that the moment for that had been in the past, and it had not yet returned. He simply held her hands in his, gripping them warmly and reassuringly… letting her feel that he was there.

After a quiet moment, he felt a slight twitch of her fingers, and immediately loosened his grip. She slipped her hands free and turned away from him, eyes lowered shyly… but that was okay. She was ready for what she was ready for, and the time would eventually come when her tears would spill over. Perhaps it wouldn’t have been right to hug her yet, after all.

Who could know exactly why what happened, happened when it happened… life always had its own reasons. But they usually turned out to be right.

 

He left her for a moment to digit what had been his absolute favorite vidi when he was thirteen. He had watched it so many times that year that he had lost track. In fact, it had been his first favorite to get banned, but that hadn’t deterred him from many subsequent viewings. He had even watched it with Mitchell before either of them joined Union, gratified that his friend shared his enthusiasm, if not quite his obsession. Since then, he had had little opportunity or inclination to watch vidis for pleasure; Tim Cavendish had been a rare diversion for him, two nights ago. But if he had had to choose a single vidi from his past to re-watch, Sonmi aside, this would be it.

“Sonmi, would you like to watch a vidi with me?” he asked her. “I used to love this one when I was younger. I think you will like it.” And she quickly perked up and came to sit beside him, sadness forgotten.

She seemed pretty bewildered by the beginning of The Matrix. He had noticed her reading about the rise of the first major net, the so-called Internet, at the very end of the 20th century. She appeared to recognize many of the related technologies, and even to be willing to accept their weird rules in this parallel universe. But she still looked a bit lost for the first ten minutes or so.

Then he told her to think of Mr. Anderson as a server like she had been in Papa Song’s, and Neo as her new self after she escaped the diner. That evidently clicked with her, and as she watched on, she seemed absolutely mesmerized.

Hae-Joo found himself running with the parallels in his mind. Given what he’d already said, then the Matrix could be thought of as the system of Unanimity, and its Agents the Enforcers... or maybe the Agents were Boardmen. Agent Smith was certainly a lot like Boardman Mephi, with his cold superiority; even his sneering face and contemptuous drawl were similar… _How funny._

And who would Hae-Joo be in the world of The Matrix—Morpheus? That made sense. Morpheus had offered Neo the choice to leave his limited, enslaved existence and enter the real world, just as Hae-Joo had to Sonmi. Although Hae-Joo didn’t see himself as a prophet, like Morpheus was; General Apis was the prophet of Union, if there was one, with his white robes and stirring speeches. He also shared Morpheus’ dark skin—not that skin color had to stay the same in this metaphor.

But actually, Morpheus wasn’t the first in the story to tempt Neo with the truth... and Hae-Joo had already established that genders could switch in this metaphor. Could Hae-Joo, perhaps, be Sonmi's... or rather _Neo’s_ soulmate, Trinity?

_Just enjoy the vidi, Chang._

But Hae-Joo had to admit that the story of The Matrix had some major echoes in his own world. And without him realizing it, the film had planted his earliest, vague dreams of having some cause worth fighting for—for what could be a worthier cause than saving a humanity held in a dream state, exploited by ruthless, tyrannical computers?

It had taken Hae-Joo a few years to realize that his humanity was practically in that plight already; they just couldn’t blame computers. Although they had, like the humans in The Matrix, built the systems of their enslavement themselves.

The action sequences had been intoxicating to him, of course, on a purely visceral level. How Hae-Joo and his fellow fans had fantasized about becoming gracefully lethal, physics-defying warriors of destruction like the heroes of The Matrix… and then, some of them actually had. Hae-Joo certainly had. He couldn’t quite defy physics or fly, but he was a force to be reckoned with in any fight.

He could hear Sonmi gasping at the same stupendous fight scenes that he had--especially the instances of the famous bullet-time effect, which The Matrix was the first vidi to popularize. It was amazing, really, how dazzling the action sequences still were, almost one hundred fifty years after the vidi came out.

But he had learned that violence and explosions were far less glamorous in real life than on a vidi screen. In vidis, one rarely saw one brave rebel after another get brutally killed, with no end in sight… and the rebels almost never lost the big battle at the very end, let alone the whole war, as Union was dangerously close to...

No, that didn’t happen in The Matrix. Hae-Joo had watched its sequels and found them to be way too much pseudo-philosophical gobbledygook; however, the ending of the original Matrix film was perfect, and perfectly inspiring to him personally. The rebels survived, and the powers of the former Corporate slave, Neo, now the One that would unite the rebellion, were unleashed. A reckoning was coming, and the freedom of humanity at hand.

Hae-Joo tried not to dwell too much on the love story; yet the flat seemed very quiet as he and Sonmi watched the scenes that established Neo and Trinity’s simple yet profound, soul-freeing connection. Sonmi’s eyes were huge as Trinity kissed the lifeless Neo, and her faith and love woke him from death as the One, enabling him to defeat Agent Smith, save the rebels… and kiss her back.

Finally Sonmi watched, enthralled, as Neo spoke his revelation to the forces of the Matrix, then stalked proudly through the masses in his sunglasses and long black coat… and at last, miraculously, took flight. She remained frozen in stunned wonder as the end credits rolled, to the old heavy metal artists’ joyfully defiant riffs and screams.

She finally turned to Hae-Joo, and he just grinned at her. He felt supremely pleased that she was apparently as taken with The Matrix’s ending as he had been the first time he had seen it.

“Where did this story come from?” she asked him in a whisper.

What a question. How could he answer that? He thought for a moment.

“The story has a common science fiction theme that peaked in the mid to late 20th century, a fear of advanced machines and computers—tools of humanity which were relatively new at the time. People feared that the tools would take control and enslave the humans who created them.”

Other classic examples flashed through his brain, many of them, surely not coincidentally, also on the short list of his adolescent favorites that were now banned. The Terminator franchise. 2001. Even the Star Wars saga, more of a space fairy tale, but with the iconic villain Darth Vader a chilling combination of man and machine in his robotic suit and mask. But unfortunately, she hadn’t seen any of those others yet.

He thought a little more about what they had just seen. “The Matrix also expresses a feeling that normal life is missing something, a sense of meaning and purpose… freedom. It’s probably a recognition of the beginning of Consumer culture, which human beings created as much as they did computers. People longed to rediscover true meaning… to take back their freedom, and control their own lives.”

He considered it further, finding new insights even for himself as he did. “But the fear that life has lost its meaning, and that humanity itself is to blame, is found across genres. It goes back hundreds of years before the 20th century—thousands, even. It’s a universal idea. The act of creation is the attempt to recapture a sense of meaning.”

There. He’d managed that rather well.

“Where do ideas come from?” Sonmi asked.

This was getting beyond him; but he was, supposedly, her mentor, so he would try his best. He took a deep breath.

“Everything we make or do comes from both outside us and within us. It comes from our experiences—that is, what we’ve already learned about the world—but it also comes from our imaginations, in ways no one can explain. What we do and say also influences and inspires the words and deeds of others, in ways we can’t explain…”

He trailed off. She looked so desperate to understand, and what was he really saying, anyway? That there was no real answer.

But it was the truth, and she didn’t seem dissatisfied with his explanation, or rather, lack of one. She frowned thoughtfully, wrinkling her forehead beneath her rapidly encroaching black hair... he wanted suddenly and intensely to smooth that hair back from her brow, to stroke it…

He got up and brought her a protein carton instead. She accepted it and drank absently, lost in reflection. She seemed pensive even as she lay down to sleep; though she responded to his “Good night” with her usual small, sweet smile, her eyes stayed open a good deal longer than the typical few minutes. They were full of thought; but eventually they closed, and she slept.


	6. Family

That night during his meditation, Hae-Joo saw Yoona-939, uncollared and free, though with strangely light hair. Her, too, he had known for a long time. Or, better said, he was going to know her for a long time...

She had been the most curious and mischievous child in their village on the island, and it had gotten her into trouble more than a few times. Yet some of his earliest memories in that life were of admiring her quick, bold ways. Even as children, she seemed to notice his shy attentions, and to take every chance she could to lead him off exploring. It was as if she were daring him to like her even more.

It really was she that chased him as they grew up, not the other way around. They were no longer children, and she was not only quick and clever, but very pretty. She was also eager to try exciting new things with him; things they only vaguely knew about, but that their bodies already seemed to want to do with each other. He was still shy, but he liked her so much, and he couldn’t resist her. So once again, they snuck off to explore together, and many thrilling discoveries followed.

When she told him with a beaming smile that she had his child inside her, he thought he would burst with pride. Immediately, he asked her to live with him as his mate, the words flying out of him in a rush. She agreed, laughing, and her eyes told him that he could have asked her much sooner. He had dreamed of living with her since he was a boy; now, he finally knew that she had always felt the same way, and would have said yes to him from the beginning.

The entire village rejoiced with them when they learned of the new life to come. In the last few years, their people had lost many to the wasting sickness, and more to attacks by the savage neighboring tribes; over that same time, few babies had come. Some had died in the womb, and several were born terribly weak, and died in their first months. There were a number of mated women in the village who had never borne a healthy child, and like the wasting sickness, there seemed to be no cause for this affliction.

Perhaps worst of all, several young men had run off in the previous year and never returned. Two of them were sighted months later among the flesh-eating tribes, having donned their fearsome war paint and joined in the slaughter of their own kin.

The people had made offerings to their ancestors and prayed to Sonmi for their survival. Many whispered fearfully that the devil was moving again. He was poisoning the people’s bodies, stirring their bloodlust... reawakening the evil that had destroyed the previous age...

But the village priestess reminded the people of the words of Sonmi. They all knew them by heart, of course, but the priestess recited the end of Sonmi’s revelation often to give them extra help during those hard times. She would always explain how their goddess’s all-seeing wisdom could help them overcome their present fears. As Sonmi told them, they were bound to all who lived: to those who had come before them, and those were yet to come. The struggle of life extended far beyond their current troubles. Right now, they could not know the fate of their little village; however, deeds in the present shaped the future. For every one of them who chose to resist fear and to live in kindness and faith, their people would be the stronger, their future the brighter. This was the greatest power they had.

The people had listened, and prayed, and waited for a sign of hope to welcome; now, they had one. All joined in giving the young couple gifts and wishing them blessings; together, the whole village helped them to build their new home, and admired it when it was finished.

Not only was the home well built, but well-furnished by his mate with many artifacts, fragments, and curiosities from the previous age. Some were pretty, others useful, and a number were both. A few had been gifts, while she had found many others herself, often rigging them to clever new purposes. All their people gathered and made use of such things, but no one had quite her flair or passion for it. She even acquired a few prized objects from the mysterious white-clad, brown and dark-skinned biannual visitors from the sleek ships that glided over the water. She loved those visitors, and she bartered for any items with which they would part with more eagerness than true haggling sense. Many considered the brown people in white to be a race of higher beings; they clearly had possession of some of the mysterious powers of the fallen age, though they never shared these with the villagers. They were unfailingly polite and gently curious, which warmed most villagers to them, yet they spoke little about themselves and never remained for long. Whenever they did reappear, his mate was among the first to welcome them.

In good time, he and his mate welcomed their dear boy, strong and eager. The birth truly seemed to bring health and peace to the entire village, for several other healthy babies were born in the coming year, and the wasting sickness seemed to subside. Meanwhile, the fierce tribes began to war among themselves on the other side of the island, decimating each other and leaving the village alone.

One day, as their small boy eagerly and messily helped him leave offerings at their ancestors’ shrine, his mate came to him, beaming again. Soon their sweet girl arrived, to their great delight. More happy years flowed by, as the children grew big and strong; he and his mate praised Sonmi for showing them such goodness. They even dared to hope for another child, though they had already been blessed more than many.

She was a kind mother to their children, a strong companion, a giving and whole-hearted lover. He thanked Sonmi daily for sending him such a good mate. Yet sometimes, when he smoked the sacred grass and let his soul wander into deep prayer, he knew that there was another mate to whom he was bound for eternity... Sonmi herself.

In the sacred dreams, he knew that he and Sonmi could not always be together; they had been in other ages, but Sonmi's soul was no longer bound to the world of the living. He knew with just as great certainty that he would be with Sonmi again some day, for every life was part of his eternal journey back to her... and in this life, Sonmi had sent him her sister to accompany him on his way.

He truly loved this sister of Sonmi, and he knew that his goddess rejoiced to know this. He also knew that Sonmi's sister had been once very unhappy, in some other age; that he had tried to help her, and failed. He was so glad that he could give her a happy life at last.

Yet now that life was shattered, he and his boy slaughtered and gone. Now she had only their little girl, and the brother who had hidden during the slaughter and done nothing.

She didn’t know that, exactly; she suspected. Still, she never blamed her brother for the day he came back from the offering place and told her that her mate and her boy had been attacked by savages, and that he had found them dead afterward, too late to help. She had collapsed to the ground, and he had run away, sobbing bitterly. He had never spoken of that day since.

During her mourning, she had grieved through the depths of her soul for her beloved mate, for their brave and wonderful boy. She knew that grief would always be with her. At the lowest point of her despair, she had begged Sonmi to release her from her torment... but her goddess and sister had helped her to know that she had to be endure. She had to be strong for her sweet little girl, who was grieving her father and brother, and needed her now more than ever. And so, with Sonmi's help, she found strength she never knew she had, and endured.

She knew that some well-meaning villagers thought that it would be best for her, her girl and their people if she took another mate as soon as possible. She heard their whispers even as they brought mourning gifts to sustain her and her girl, and joined them in weeping and remembering the lost. And she was aware of the eyes of the men on her; they looked at her differently now that her mate was gone. She also knew full well what everyone had been talking of anxiously: it had been another year without babies. Having borne two healthy children, her people would expect her to at least try to bear another. Her mate and son had not been the only ones lost recently to the savages; though much fewer in number, the surviving tribesmen had resumed their scattered attacks, and seemed to have grown more ferocious than ever. The people had begun to fear for their future once more.

Yet as she neared the end of her mourning, she prayed to Sonmi for guidance, and a different answer came to her. Now was not the time for another mate and more children. No, now she must focus all her care on the one, precious child she had left, and on her suffering brother, who had no one else to stand by him.

Still, on her last evening of mourning, a certain young man came to her home and proposed to her with unconventional directness.

He was handsome and energetic, with bright eyes, wild hair and a confident, even cocky manner. As he put it, she was young, beautiful and clever, and so was he. What was more, she was a proven mother with a fine home. He had little to offer her yet, but because plenty of other men would be interested in her, he could only make sure he was the first to ask. He knew he could find no better mate than her in the entire village, and he wanted her to know that he was gifted and determined enough for many men. She could trust him to work hard, to rise among their people, and to provide well for her, her girl, and any other children that Sonmi sent them.

He told her that he understood that she would never be able to love him as she had her first mate; as he said that, his shining eyes grew far away for a moment... yes, he understood very well. But he would be honored to build a new family with her and her little girl if she would have him. What did she say?

She was more than a bit taken aback by his approach. Yet she couldn’t feel offended; he was passionate and sincere, for all his overconfidence. Nevertheless, she simply could not see him as a mate, now or ever, and she told him this as kindly as she could. 

He was clearly disappointed, but accepted her answer with surprising grace. Then he asked if she would listen to him anyway, and held up a delicately carved wooden flute. Music was his greatest gift, he said; he had been working on a melody for some time, in the hopes of playing it for her.

She could hardly refuse him... and as she listened the lovely, haunting tune, a very strange thing happened. It seemed that she could see Sonmi with her dear lost mate beside her, and their brave young boy between them. The vision was not fixed; their faces and clothing shifted constantly... yet it was them, always. She could _feel_ their love for her, and hers for them; it was stronger than anything else in the world. They were connected to her and her sweet girl with bonds that could never be broken; they were reaching out for her brother, who would overcome the darkness in his soul and accept their love in time. No matter what happened, none of them would ever be alone.

When he finished, she told the young man that Sonmi must have sent him, because his music had given her a sacred vision of comfort. She gave him her heartfelt thanks, and a gentle embrace. And he departed both touched and deeply pleased with himself, a beaming smile on his lips.

With her mourning period ended, she opened her home to her brother. She also let it be known no new mate would be joining her and her girl for the foreseeable future. The people murmured, but the priestess told them that their sister must be guided by Sonmi. So they left her in peace.

As for the brother, he had completely isolated himself in his own grief during her mourning, rather than sharing their sorrows as their people traditionally did; though this had hurt her greatly, she did not hold it against him. He was clearly still depressed now. Like her, after the mourning weeks, he had rejoined the village in the shared work that kept them all fed, clothed and sheltered; but for him, this usually meant disappearing with the goats all day. He was often irritable, and he grabbed at any possible excuse to shun others... even her.

The villagers whispered about him, but she never stopped believing in his goodness. He could be sharp with her, but he was gentle to her little girl, and the closest thing to a father she had left. It seemed that only the child could coax a smile out of him anymore.

She wished he would not let himself fall into such a state. Whatever he had seen and done, or not done, life went on... just as it went on for her, despite the loss of her mate and son. Life would always go on, and it could still be good, and interesting; even happy. Sonmi had helped her to know this.

But her goddess and friend had never denied the inevitability of pain and death.

Within the same year, the fierce cries of savage tribesmen echoed into the village itself, mingling with the terrified screams of her people. And she knew that, once again, her life was almost over.

She grabbed her little girl and hid her in the house. She made her promise to be still and quiet, no matter what happened; she told her that she loved her, and that Sonmi would watch over her, always.

Then she ran out of the house, praying to Sonmi to keep her child safe. Her brother was gone on a quest with their brown-skinned visitor, and she prayed that they would not return until after the savages left. Then, her brother would find her girl; he would take care of her. Even if none of the rest of the village survived, her girl and her brother would make a new life, somewhere, with their brown-skinned friends... she prayed to Sonmi that this would be their future.

The tribesmen rode up, brutally killing her neighbors as she watched. She was no match for the savages physically, but she was clever, beautiful, and brave; she knew they liked to have fun with the prettiest women before killing them. So she let them see her... then she ran away from the house as fast as she could.

As she ran, she beseeched her goddess in her heart. _Please Sonmi, let them do their taking and hurting and destroying with me. Don’t let them tear my house apart and find my girl, nor burn it with her inside. Please, let my girl live... and keep my brother and our friend from this slaughter…_

They soon caught her and began their fun. Although she knew she was going to die, she still had to fight them, to try to live, for every moment she clung to life and kept them with her was another moment she kept them from her girl. They laughed at her as she struggled; she punched one of them in the face even as he laughed. But they easily overpowered her, using her, hurting her, and as pain took over she just asked her goddess again and again to protect her child… her brother… the brown-skinned woman... _please help them, Sonmi…_

But Sonmi was no goddess. Sonmi was her timid sister, with whom she had shared her secrets, who had smiled in delight with her as they watched the vidi scene over and over again. How had she come to think of her like that?

There was no real reason why she had picked Sonmi to wake up that one sleep shift. By chance, her sister had spotted her holding the stolen access key on the First Day that Yoona earned her sixth star, and Sonmi her third. They’d been singing the xultation hymn. But Yoona hadn’t been thinking about the freedom their sister was headed for, and that she herself could look forward to in six more years; instead, she’d been daydreaming about the secrets the key would allow her to continue to explore in a little more than twenty hours.

Nearly another year had passed before she decided she wanted to share those secrets with someone. Seer Rhee didn’t count; she liked having fun with him, but she liked exploring even more. She had decided she wanted someone to join her. She liked all of her sisters, but Sonmi was the only one who had seen her with the key. She remembered how surprised her sister had looked, her wide eyes clearly wondering what she was up to. Why not show her, now that there was something truly wondrous to share with her?

When she finally woke her sister, she could tell that Sonmi was stunned by her behavior. She seemed deeply bothered when Yoona asked her if she’d ever thought about what it was like up in the Consumer world. But Yoona couldn’t stop herself from asking such questions anymore, despite what the catechisms said. And she was no longer afraid of breaking them a little now and then. Still, she understood her sister’s confusion; like her, Yoona hadn’t dared even to think such thoughts for most of her life.

It all had begun when Seer Rhee, who came to the diner after she earned her fifth star, woke her all by herself in the middle of a sleep shift. He had told her to lie on one of the cold grey Consumer tables, and she had of course obeyed. But then he began to touch her all over with his hands and mouth, holding her body against him as he did so, breathing hard. At first she was afraid. She submitted to his actions, as she must, just like she did during the frequent smacks, gropes, and other touches the Consumers in the diner dealt her. But her mind told her what he was doing was very different, and went against the catechisms, strongly.

And yet, her body seemed to be responding to what he was doing... strongly. What he did made her feel excited in a way she had never been before... in a way she found herself liking, very much.

She knew that this was very wrong. She was a Papa Song server; these things had nothing to do with her work, and no Consumer was paying the Corporation for them. She still had to let a Consumer, especially a Seer, do whatever he wanted, always, but she should not be getting excited by what he was doing to her. She almost wanted to grab him with her own arms and hold him more tightly against her... to know how his own skin felt beneath her hands, her mouth... of course she must not do this, but oh, how she wanted to. What was happening to her?

She should stop herself from feeling this... she should make herself go empty inside while this was happening, and forget all about it when it stopped. She knew how; she had been taught. It was what a fabricant must do, and surely what all other fabricants had done when this happened to them... yet it felt good, so good. Had any fabricant besides her ever felt this good? She did not know how, or why, she was different than all the others. She only knew that she _wanted_ to keep feeling this... and so, she did. It was the first choice she ever made, though she did not truly understand this until the end. 

After a while, Seer Ree fumbled with his clothes, pulled her pelvis toward his and pushed them together. The good, exciting feeling had become highly concentrated in her pelvic area, and the increased contact seemed to make it exponentially stronger. She could hardly think straight; yet somehow, she realized that he was about to push the hard, warm part of his body between his legs into the warm, strangely wet gap between hers... and that she wanted him to.

Yet she _knew_ from her conditioning phase that this activity was reserved for fabricants who worked in very different places than Papa Song's; and her excitement turned suddenly to fear again. What would happen if he did this to her, when she hadn't been made for it? Would something happen to destroy her for such a transgression, as deadly as the collar around her neck?

Her fear seemed to come true as he pushed into her, causing terrible pain. It felt as if she were tearing inside; surely he was too big to fit in there, and would kill her! It hurt so much that she could not keep herself from blinking involuntarily... it was the most she had ever shown physical discomfort in her life, and the extent of what was allowed by her conditioning. Then he began to pull himself out, to her relief—only to push himself back in almost immediately, hurting her again. He continued this in a rhythmic pattern, and she continued to hurt, and fear she would die, and wish he would stop; but of course, she could never physically push a Consumer away, no matter what he was doing to her. She could only continue to lie there, letting him do what he would, without showing any other sign of her misery.

But as Seer Rhee kept up what he was doing, the pain began to lessen; it seemed that her body could fit him after all. After several minutes, the discomfort was no more than an dull ache. What was more, he was touching her again, running a hand over her thighs, up her belly, kneading and working her breast in a way that somehow made her excited all over again... soon, the pain was forgotten entirely. Then, she could no longer stop her body from moving against his, and her breath quickened, and gasped, and sighed, as the good feeling filled her again, stronger than ever... and Seer Rhee got a very surprised look in his eyes. Then he smirked, made a pleased sort of grunting noise, and began to thrust into her all the more intensely. And she could hardly believe it, but she liked this even more…

Maybe there had been a flaw in her engineering. Like all her sisters, she had no memories from her conditioning phase, but it had taught her how to follow the catechisms perfectly, and how to stop herself if she was tempted to stray, until this became reflex. She was able to do this countless times a day when it came to other things; it was a fabricant’s sacred duty. True, she couldn’t stop Seer Rhee from doing these things, but she should at least _want_ him to stop. She knew that when she moved with him, she was encouraging him to continue, which was most definitely the opposite of wanting him to stop. She certainly shouldn’t feel herself wanting _more_ and _more—_ of course she never said anything, but she felt the desire within her, stronger than any other she had ever known. And she definitely should not be looking forward to the next time he woke her up, wondering if it would it be her next sleep shift… hoping very much that it would be!

But she did. The things they had done together simply felt too good. He must have liked them too, because he _did_ wake her again the next sleep shift. And this time, there was no pain for her at all... only the excited, good feelings, over and over again...

Still, at the beginning she had been afraid that they would be found out, or that Seer Rhee would tell others what they had done. Either way, she would be xcised.

But she always crept back to her box unseen, went back to sleep, and woke again at Hour 4 to get ready for the next work shift with nobody the wiser. Even though the meetings took away from her sleep, she never really felt tired. Seer Rhee didn't come to see her every sleep shift, and whether he did or not, the autostimulant always woke her right up with the rest of her sisters when it was time. And she was always able to do her work properly, no matter how little she'd slept; sometimes she even felt as if the things they were doing gave her extra energy. And Seer Rhee didn’t tell anyone; they kept doing the things together, and nothing bad happened. He seemed very happy to do what she let him do, and he also seemed to know that she enjoyed what he did. He especially seemed to like it when she moved with him.

She found that thinking during the work shift about the fun they had in the sleep shift made the work less monotonous. She hadn’t even thought the work was monotonous before; but then, she hadn’t known about other ways to occupy time than work and sleep. That had changed since Seer Rhee woke her. She was started to think a lot of different things now that she never had before… it was as if the feelings in her body were changing her mind as well.

She even thought about doing the things she did with Seer Rhee with a few of the Consumers she saw, the ones she thought looked nice. She always had a perfect smile for every Consumer, however they looked, and she never once lapsed in her duties, but she found that thinking such things helped the long hours until the next sleep shift pass more quickly.

She started to wonder about the lives of the Consumers she served. Amongst themselves, they probably did the same things that she and Seer Rhee did with each other… what else did they do? It was strange that she could do at least some of the same things as them, yet they and Seer Rhee were born Consumers, and allowed to do whatever they liked, whenever they liked… while she and her sisters were fabricants grown in wombtanks, and had to work for Consumers, and were allowed to do only what the Consumers liked.

Seer Rhee also liked to drink soap. Yoona had never heard of a Consumer drinking soap. It was probably forbidden; it was the fabricant’s sacred, perfect food, according to the catechisms. But it seemed to make him feel so happy, and he fell asleep so deeply afterward, that she wouldn’t have reported him even if she could… and she couldn’t, because _he_ was the Seer—who else could she tell?

It did seem funny that a Seer could do forbidden things, but a fabricant could not. But in any case, the soap made Seer Rhee feel good, and she realized that she liked that, forbidden or not. And it also meant she could go exploring while he slept so deeply… and she found herself liking this even more.

It was so nice to have the whole diner to herself. As she looked on the deserted grey tables and chairs, she imagined the Consumers she had seen there during the day. She wondered where they went when they left the diner. What things were they doing now? She thought about the many things she heard them say to each other, all day long. The catechisms forbade her to eavesdrop, of course, and much of what she heard she did not understand... yet she found it surprisingly easy to work with the sacred speed and efficiency even as she listened and wondered. She even imagined what it would be like to sit among the Consumers and talk to them herself. Not just the greeting and taking of orders and farewell… to really talk to them, asking what they did, what they liked… how they lived…

Perhaps one of them would even invite her to leave the diner and go up into the Consumer world with him, and show her what it was like.

She knew that all of these thoughts were forbidden. But they were only in her head, and no one else could find them out, so she was safe. Despite what the catechisms told her, she knew now that she could keep secrets in her head, as long as she did her work perfectly and never stopped smiling. She couldn’t get xcised just for having thoughts, so why should she try to stop them anymore?

Those thoughts could never come true, anyway. She would never sit and talk with Consumers, nor see what their world was like. She could leave the diner only through xultation.

After she had worked for twelve years, her contract would be complete. As her sisters sang the hymn, she would put on a white dress and hood, and bid farewell to them. Then the red-robed attendants would lead her out of the diner, to a special place just for fabricants who no longer had to work. She knew from her conditioning phase that it was a wonderful place, where she would be free and happy, together with all the other fabricants who had served Papa Song for twelve years. But to ask anything more about it was against the catechisms, and would prevent her from ever going there… so she knew nothing more.

It did sound lovely, to leave the diner and be free—yet if she were truly free, couldn’t she then go wherever she wanted? Somehow, she knew that even then, she could not. It was because she was a fabricant, of course, and not a pure-blood. Fabricant freedom was not the same as pure-blood freedom; that was just the way it was.

Six more years now seemed like such a long time to work before she could leave the diner. And even then, she wouldn’t be able to get the answers to the questions that filled her, nor see what she wanted so much to see. The thought gave her… pain… inside.

She had known many different kinds of pain, but never this kind. It didn't seem to come from any particular place. And she couldn’t just ignore it, or withstand it until it faded… and so it remained. She knew that if things were different, if she could be free like a pure-blood, somehow, the pain would go away... but how could such things change?

There was, however, one thing she could change. There were parts of the diner that were forbidden and locked to her, even during the sleep shift; however, from watching Seer Rhee get soap for himself from the storeroom, she knew he kept the access key in his pocket. After thinking about it for some weeks, she stole the key from him one shift while he slept.

It was a very frightening thing to do. The feelings Yoona had about the things she and Seer Rhee did, and her thoughts about the Consumers, and her wanting things to be different, were all forbidden, but no one could find out about them. The things she and Seer Rhee did were forbidden too, but they had been his idea, not hers. As a fabricant, she still had to let a pure-blood do whatever he wanted to her, even if it got her xcised--though that didn’t make a bit of sense anymore when she thought about it, even if it was a catechism. But anyway, stealing a piece of Consumer property was one of the greatest xcisable offenses. She’d really committed one now, outwardly, and all by herself.

But Seer Rhee liked the things they did so much; she didn’t think he wanted her to be xcised. Surely he wouldn’t want to lose their fun over such a tiny little key, when he could easily get another one, and no one else would know what she was doing with it. Anyway, he would probably just think he had lost it. He was unaware of anything she did once he'd had his soap.

In the end, getting to explore the restricted rooms was more than worth her initial fear, especially once she got into the lost and found. There were so many Consumer things there, and new items frequently appeared, and she could handle and play with and wonder about the uses of all of them as much as she wanted after Seer Rhee passed out. There were even a very few, precious Consumer media items. There was an apple with endless songs of swift and steady beat, the type of which she had occasionally seen Consumers play in the diner and move their bodies to in apparent high excitement. The songs were great fun to listen to, and even more fun when she tried imitating the excited movements herself as the apple played; somehow, the song movements were similar to the more intense movements she and Seer Rhee made together. Unfortunately, the apple disappeared from the lost and found after only a few shifts, reclaimed by either Consumer or Corporation. So the next time such a precious thing appeared, she hid it at the bottom of a carton, and there, to her great joy, it remained: the kino. She watched the short vidi it contained over and over for an entire month after it appeared, and it still seemed just as amazing as when she first found it. 

As before, well before the sleep shift ended, she would creep back to her open sleep box and lie down. The sensor would automatically close it, shutting her inside, just as it did when she lay down with the rest of her sisters after their soap feeding. After a while, she would fall asleep, and wake up again with the rest of her sisters before the next work shift, and no one would have any idea what she had been up to in the night.

Yoona did notice that she didn’t fall asleep right away when she hadn’t just drunk soap; she realized that something in soap must make her sisters, and Seer Rhee, able to sleep very quickly and deeply. She sometimes even felt uncomfortable when she lay down in her box by herself, and the door closed and locked her inside; somehow, the box seemed narrower and darker than it ever had before. But thoughts of pleasant times with Seer Rhee and her magnificent explorations comforted her, and she was always able to fall asleep again before long… it was just more difficult.

The first night, she carefully pried up a small corner of the matting that covered the bottom of her sleep box from the frame, and hid the access key in the tiny space; however, as time went by, she took to carrying it with her everywhere, hiding it in her clothes and sometimes even her hands during the day. She would take it out and admire it whenever the rare moment came when she had nothing else to do... she _was_ a bit careless at that First Day ritual, gazing down at the key while she stood in line with her sisters, Sonmi right next to her. But she only smiled at Sonmi's shocked face, feeling almost proud, knowing her sister couldn't begin to imagine all the secret discoveries that Yoona had been dreaming of, past and future...

The kino had been the best discovery of all. But she found herself thinking that it was so amazing, she just had to share it with someone… someone who would find it as wondrous as she did.

Seer Rhee was used to such things, and she couldn’t very well tell him about stealing his key and going into the forbidden rooms. No, she would show one of her sisters... _Sonmi._

There was no chance during work. But she had noticed that Seer Rhee sometimes reprogrammed her box after they had fun together during the sleep shift, before he drank his soap. He visited her often, but not every sleep shift; when she saw him reprogram her box, he never came the next shift. Eventually, she realized that he was removing the separate revival he had set for her. That meant he didn’t just manually wake her each time, but sometimes kept a separate revival set in advance. And _that_ meant that Yoona could set a separate revival for a sister, if she wanted to.

For a number of sleep shifts, she discretely observed Seer Rhee’s actions around the sleep box controls before he drank soap. And she carefully examined the controls and their settings after he passed out, until she was certain that she understood how they worked.

Finally, Yoona waited for the next shift that Seer Rhee left her revival set; then, while he lay passed out, she set Sonmi’s box to wake her up during his next visit.

It was lovely having Sonmi share all of her secrets. She had wanted Sonmi to _see_ what she and Seer Rhee were doing, not just tell her about it; it now made her feel more than a bit special that she and a Seer were having fun together, and she was truly gratified by her sister’s astonished face as she hid and watched. She also felt very powerful later as she demonstrated to Sonmi how deeply the Seer slept by lifting up his arm, then dropping it.

But after she did that, Yoona couldn’t help stroking his face a little bit. She didn’t want to hurt him. She didn’t just like the things he did… she liked _him_ too.

But even better than showing off her secret with Seer Rhee was talking to a sister when no one else could hear them, and speaking her most secret thought aloud, for the first time in her life.

“Do you ever wonder what it is like up there… with the Consumers?”

Sonmi seemed anxious, and immediately said that the third catechism forbade such questions. But just saying her thought out loud had made Yoona feel better, somehow. 

She had to pull Sonmi toward the lost and found, then coax her inside; after all, Sonmi did not yet know that the catechisms were wrong, and that secrets could be kept. She did her best to convey to Sonmi her confidence, the certainty that they could enjoy this secret together: she even called her Sonmi _-ya _, as she had heard some female Consumers say when they seemed to feel especially connected to one another. It pleased her so much, to talk to her sister the way a Consumer would.__

Of course, the best thing of all was showing Sonmi the treasure of the lost and found: the kino. It felt so, so good to see that the vidi enchanted Sonmi just as much as it did her. Yoona even spoke the man's words along with him as the vidi repeated, proud of how well she knew them.

Sonmi was far more timid than she was, but Yoona could see that she had the same ability to like things, and to ask questions. Sonmi just didn’t ask any questions of her own, _yet_. It had taken Yoona quite a while herself. It had begun with the strange but good feelings in her body, and those feelings had led to questions, and the questions to explorations, and the explorations to more feelings, and those to more questions…

With Sonmi, it could be something quite different that made her start asking questions; it could even be many different things at once. Maybe when things started happening to Sonmi, she would start asking even more questions than Yoona. And maybe she could learn the answers to the questions a lot faster than Yoona could… perhaps even _all_ the answers, to _all_ the questions. Then, she would tell others about what she had learned, and they would praise her, and remember her, and ask her for help, for a long time… perhaps she would end up a goddess in that way.

 _A goddess? What’s a goddess?_ Yoona had been enjoying her imaginings, something she found herself doing more and more lately. But she didn’t quite know where that word had come from, or what it meant. Anyway, Yoona liked Sonmi much, much better than her other sisters now that they shared a secret.

Eventually, it was time to end their secret meeting. She hid the kino in the bottom of the carton, led her sister back to their open sleep boxes, and lay down in hers. Just before the box closed her in again, she glimpsed Sonmi getting into her own box, and smiled at her. She knew that the Seer hadn’t reprogrammed her revival before he passed out, and so she had left Sonmi’s box set too, and that meant they would visit each other again the very next shift.

When it came, Yoona could hardly wait for the Seer to be done, which was unusual for her. When he had finally finished, he again left her box set before he started to down his soap. She felt absolutely thrilled that she had the chance to be with her sister now _and_ the next sleep shift as well, and she came to Sonmi beaming once he had fallen asleep. She thought she caught a miniscule twitch of her sister’s lips in return, before worry returned to her face. Still, she looked a tiny bit less fearful than she had during the previous visit. They didn’t speak; just went straight to the lost and found together, sat down again with the kino, and watched the vidi in quiet, shared wonder for as long as they dared. And Yoona found herself liking it more than ever.

What Yoona had found herself liking less and less were some of the Consumers. The ones that pushed or hit her, or yelled at her, or threw things at her… that did things to her body... that laughed at her.

The Consumers that pushed and yelled and threw things were easier to ignore, but there didn’t seem to be quite as many of them as the Consumers who did things to her body. Often, the Consumers touched the same parts of her body that Seer Rhee did; sometimes they made movements or sounds that reminded her of what she and the Seer did together. Usually, they did this while laughing at her. Even though she sometimes liked to think about doing the things she did with Seer Rhee with the nice-looking Consumers, when it came to these other Consumers, Yoona only felt bad… especially when they laughed.

It seemed like they thought they could do whatever they wanted to her, or around her, and that she wouldn’t feel anything. Actually, her conditioning still told her not to feel anything, but she _did_ feel things now, all the time. She had such strong, good feelings in her body with Seer Rhee, and he seemed to _want_ her to feel good, or at least to enjoy it when she did… but these Consumers clearly didn’t want her to feel good.

She truly couldn’t remember the things the Consumers did making her feel so bad in all the years before Seer Rhee woke her. It was a normal part of being a diner server. If she had any urges to do something forbidden, like try to stop the Consumer from doing something, she was to obey the catechisms, smile, and keep working as best as she could. And she had obeyed the catechisms, day after day after day. How could she have such strong feelings now, and not have had any then?

She knew she hadn’t ever _liked_ what those Consumers did. She had just thought that was the way some of them were, while others yelled, and a few were violent, and many more simply ordered her around. It hadn’t occurred to her that anything a Consumer did could ever make her feel good, until Seer Rhee. But now, she actually looked out for the nice Consumers who she imagined could also make her feel good... like that dark-skinned man with the warm eyes whom she had seen several times… he had even smiled at her once. And his smile had made her feel as good as the things Seer Rhee did to her, though in a very different way; she didn't understand where it came from, but it was a very, very good feeling. But maybe along with all that came the awareness that a Consumer could also make her feel really bad... or maybe she just hadn’t allowed herself feel either good _or_ bad, before. Or maybe she _had_ felt them both, just pushed the feelings deep down inside herself, and made herself forget them... it was all so confusing.

She thought a lot about the vidi scene. The old man spoke strongly to the lady at the desk. He clearly felt bad, but wouldn’t accept whatever was being done to him; so he said so, and walked away. It _was_ a grand thing to do… to say what you felt, and just walk right out of a place where you didn’t want to be. Yoona knew Sonmi was just as impressed by the scene; she hadn’t said anything, but her eyes had shone with wonder. If her timid, catechism-fearing sister Sonmi loved it, it _must_ be right for Yoona to love it too.

Of course, the man was doing something only Consumers could do. But Yoona had found herself imagining that she was a Consumer lately, and could say and do something like that whenever anything made her feel bad. She didn’t, of course. But imagining she could was somewhat comforting… and she needed comfort, because what some of the Consumers did really hurt her inside. And she realized that what she felt was even more than hurt; it was hurt mingled with a boiling, hot, uncontrollable feeling she could not name…

She certainly hadn’t planned to punch the face of the young Consumer who squirted mayonnaise all over her back during the next work shift, thrusting the bottle and grunting, while his friends laughed.

But she knew that he thought she had no idea what he was pretending to do, and no feelings regarding it at all. He thought she would just smile and accept it and keep on working, while he had his fun... that she was a thing, to use and laugh at and forget about. It hurt her so much, and the boiling feeling returned, and something snapped inside her.

Her punch knocked him to the floor. Everyone in the diner froze and stared at her.

Only then did she realize what she had done, and that there was no way she was getting away with it this time. She’d committed a severe anti-catechism in front of everyone. There would be no sneaking back to her sleep box now.

Well, she might as well say it. She’d wanted to for so long.

“I will not be subjected to criminal abuse,” she spoke steadily, looking around at her captive audience.

There was a little girl in front of her who looked familiar… but that couldn’t be. The child was just another Consumer, and she wasn’t familiar with any Consumer except one. And yet she knew she knew this girl, and liked her… more than liked her. She would do anything for her. _Why?_ It didn’t make sense.

But the girl seemed to recognize her too, and to want to help her. She was holding out an orison, as if offering it to her.

This was her chance! The orison would open the Consumer elevator, and let her leave this place—just like Tim Cavendish. She snatched it from the child and ran as fast as she could, shoving panicked Consumers aside, pointed it at the elevator and clicked.

The lift was on its way. But an alarm had sounded, and a sickening awareness hit her. Of course she couldn’t leave; she wore the collar. It should have kept her from running away after she hit the Consumer. But it hadn’t—

She turned around and saw Seer Rhee holding up the detonator.

She frantically clicked the orison a few more times, but the lift was still approaching. It wouldn’t matter anyway... but she _had_ to try, because suddenly she wanted so much to live. To walk out of this place, which she now knew she hated... to do and say whatever she wanted, with whomever she wanted. To be happy.

She looked back at Seer Rhee. He seemed reluctant. He had waited this long, triggered the alarm—what did he think, that she’d just sit quietly until someone took her away for xcisement, and spare him the trouble of using the detonator?

Or maybe Seer Rhee didn’t want either thing to happen. Maybe he _wanted_ her to escape. He’d liked what they’d done together so much. She’d always been willing, she’d let him do whatever he wanted to her, and let him have her pleasure, too—could he really just end her life now? He must like her too, at least a little.

She clicked the orison again and shook her head at him, desperately, pleading. But then she saw his eyes grow hard, and she knew that he would do it.

And in that instant, she realized that he was the worst of any of the Consumers who’d abused and disregarded her, by far. He had used her in the worst way of them all, and he was about to disregard her in the worst way of all.

He had not cared how she would feel, the first time he woke her up. He had liked it when she felt good, but that had been _her_ choice, not something he had wanted or even considered. He would have used her even if she had only felt hurt, or scared, or stopped herself from feeling anything. He _did_ like her too, but that would not stop him from using the detonator. If he had not liked her quite so much, he probably would have gotten rid of her much sooner. In the end, she was only a thing to him, too; he did not care whether she was happy, or even if she lived.

It hurt her more than anything she had ever felt. But despite this, a part of her was glad she finally knew the truth. It made her feel… free.

He clicked the detonator; a compact explosion, a sharp pain, and blood was fountaining from her neck. She clasped at it in vain. The last thing Yoona saw as she collapsed was Sonmi, watching her silently from the counter with strangely bright eyes… at least, as she died, her sister and friend was with her…

The chief of the savages was having his turn now. She knew that when he was done using her, he would kill her. As her consciousness soared off, away from the blood and the pain, she also knew that he was the one who had killed her mate… and that his soul was the same one that had used and killed her before.

But Sonmi was with her, and Yoona's soul was far greater than he could imagine. He had treated her as a thing to use and discard... but this only revealed his weakness. And even in oppressing her, he had given her a choice. Then, she had chosen to feel; now, she tried to save her child... choices that gave her power, and set her free. Nothing could change this; not even dying at his hands, as she was again now.

He, too, had died, soon after he ended her life, at his own hands, unable to live with what he had done. He would die again soon, at the hands of her brother, whose journey was not yet done... but her brother would find his way soon. She could only pity that other, lost, soul, who chose to hurt and use others, again and again... yet she was somehow grateful to him as well. And now she was with Sonmi, her soul eternally free.

 

Sonmi’s eyes were opening, and Yoona vanished from Hae-Joo’s mind as the third day began. But he would have one more, brief vision of her a few hours later.

He was starting to feel sleepy sooner than before; the stimulant doses were less able to compensate for his increasing sleep deprivation. He decided to have his nap a bit earlier than usual, take another half dose of stimulant, and push through the evening until Sonmi retired. He should be able to manage without stimulants from that point on; four hours was the minimum amount of sleep on which he could function naturally, though he would feel tired as his body readjusted after the unusual demands of the past two days. But he was confident now that she could sleep safely on her own, and so he could sleep the same four hours that she did that night.

She had adapted well to her new, if isolated life, and was learning at an incredible pace. Their days here had fallen into a very pleasant rhythm, and he hated to uproot her when she was clearly comfortable and flourishing. Yet he knew it would be safest to bring her to Old Seoul as soon as she was ready.

While a delayed traumatic reaction seemed unlikely, it was still possible; she’d left the diner just two and a half days ago, and changing location would trigger at least some anxiety for her. He decided to keep them in the flat one more night to bolster her. He could discuss their moving with her in the morning. If she seemed ready—and he was almost certain she would be—then they would be in the old city by the following night.  

By early afternoon, he was quite drowsy, and he fell asleep soon the instant he lay down. Unusually for him, the visions that came to him in meditation continued in his dreams, haunting his overtired mind as he slept.

He saw Yoona lying in a bloody heap once more… she’d been used and slaughtered again, as she had been in the diner while Sonmi watched, unable to shed tears for her. But her brother was there now, weeping, kissing her, mourning her.

The brother, or the doctor…? The brother had been weak and selfish, but the doctor was far worse, wicked in his greed. He had poisoned the lawyer to steal the blue gems of his waistcoat buttons, his precious wedding ring, and his chest of gold... the lawyer knew it now, but he was so sick and wasted he could hardly move, let alone do anything about it. As he convulsed and shook, he thought again and again of his beloved red-haired wife, her wide, sweet eyes and slender, beautiful body… how he wished he could see her, one last time.

Then, the dark-skinned sailor came to his aid. He realized what the doctor was doing, and he fought him, risking his life for his friend. The doctor beat the sailor, bit him savagely, held him down and tried to choke him to death… and the lawyer couldn’t let that happen.

Finding strength from somewhere other than his current, frail body, he got to his feet, lifted the immensely heavy chest of gold the doctor had coveted, and smashed the doctor’s skull in.

The two friends clung to each other, wheezing and embracing; then, the dark man fetched bowl after bowl of salt water, which he made the lawyer drink until he retched, again and again, bringing the poison back up from his depths…

The doctor had been defeated. But the brother was running, running through the woods with his sister’s girl in his arms, the bloodthirsty tribesmen close behind him. He’d killed the chief, snoring drunk on mead and blood on the floor of his ruined home, avenging his sister and his people; but it had been a mistake, a terrible mistake. He hadn’t heeded the final warning Sonmi had sent him: _Enemy sleeping, don’t slit that throat._

Sonmi’s warnings had only done great good before; they had saved him once, and the brown-skinned woman twice. But this time, he had refused to listen over his hate. The savage was the same brutal tribesman who’d slain his sister’s boy and mate while he’d hidden, too weak in his fear to help them. And now the savage had slaughtered his sister and her little girl, along with the rest of their village. But the brother would exact revenge. He’d awoken the enemy, yes… but only when his knife pressed against the savage’s throat just before sawing it through.

The brother felt dread mingling with vengeful pleasure as the tribesman screamed and gurgled, choking on his own fountaining blood. It was a horrible sight... but was it dread he felt, or something else... yet how could it be… pity? Pity for this loathsome creature that had robbed him of everything… yet who was still a man, like him, who tried desperately to cling to life even as he died... just as the brother would have?

Then, the brother heard a small noise. He followed it, his heart beating wildly… whipped up the curtain of the corner storage cupboard, and cried tears of joy to discover his frightened little niece alive. He crushed her small body to him and kissed her as she collapsed against him, whimpering with relief.

Then he heard the savages returning on their horses. As he peered carefully outside, the second in command of the tribe stopped in front of the house and whistled for the chief... and the brother realized what he had done.

When the chief did not emerge, the second dismounted and entered the house. He found the body of the chief; heard the brother trying to sneak the child and himself out the back window, and lunged after them. And now the brother could only clutch the girl and run through the woods.

Suddenly he found himself back in the place of his great shame, where he had hidden behind a rock as nephew and brother-in-law were killed. The evil demon with cold eyes returned to the rock to laugh and gloat. His dark suit was a mockery of that of the lawyer, the doctor’s intended victim, a symbol of past sins about to be punished.

And then the brother was surrounded by savages. He pushed the child into the bushes to hide, frantically pulled out his small knife to defend her. He fought as hard as he could, but in half a minute, the lead tribesman had his huge blade at his throat. He was trapped and despairing, just like the friend he hadn’t tried to save, gazing at the rock for help that would never come…

But help did come.

The brown-skinned woman in white rose from behind the rock and fired her weapon, shooting a bright bolt at the tribesman holding the knife. The blade slashed the brother’s face deeply as the tribesman fell backward... but the brother was spared from slaughter.

The woman killed several other savages, one after another. Then, one shot in her in the leg with an arrow as he fell, and she cried out. Another aimed a crossbow at her, and the brother leaped on him, both crossbow and his knife flying aside. He reached for his knife, but the savage grabbed the cord that held the blue gem at his neck, strangling him, and another jumped on the woman, wrenching the arrow from her leg for a weapon as she screamed… the brother strained and choked, reaching desperately for the knife as his neck bled...

Then the cord broke, and he was free. He grabbed his knife and stabbed the tribesman; took the crossbow, and shot the savage attacking the woman.

They were safe. He had saved them all: the brown-skinned woman in white whom he had begun to trust and care for, his sister’s sweet little girl… and himself.

As he scooped the child into his arms again, the brown woman staggered toward them. _Thank Sonmi,_ she said shakily.

Hae-Joo’s eyes were opening as his brother’s response echoed in his mind. _No… thank you._


	7. Music

Sonmi watched as he rose and took a final half dose of stimulant. It would have to last him for the rest of the afternoon and evening, until he slept again when she did. She looked curious: perhaps at the break in his established pattern? But her eyes seemed to be lingering on his chest… she was also nodding her head slightly up and down, as if to a light beat. He had to smile; it was sweet.

To distract him from his drowsiness, and because he, too, was curious, he unblocked his aural nerve so he could hear whatever she was listening to. It sounded like early 21st century jazz, but the theme was familiar. In fact, it had been reused over and over through the years, in hundreds of arrangements and variations; there had even been a snatch of it on the Tim Cavendish vidi soundtrack. But only a very few hardcore fanclub types, as Hae-Joo had been, knew the title and composer of the original composition, and could digit it.

He sat down next to Sonmi, eager to share this with her. But it seemed that she knew the theme already; she had even started to hum along.

It hit him. _Xultation._

He had forgotten that fabricants knew this musical theme perhaps better than anyone. It formed the basis of the traditional hymn they sang once a year, on the day designated by their establishment for those sisters or brothers who had worked for twelve years to process happily away, replaced by new additions… off to supposed freedom.

His mood had turned black. It seemed a cruel trick of time and fate that such beautiful music could accompany such an atrocity.

She had stopped humming and nodding, and was looking at him with a troubled expression. The change in his mood must have been obvious. But he couldn’t explain to her why right now… she wasn’t ready for that truth. And then an angry, frustrated sigh escaped him, startling her. _When, and how, could she ever be ready for that?!_

It was part of his duty to help her learn it eventually; he now realized he dreaded it. But this was not the time. She had been free for less than three full days, and she was doing so well, she was even _happy_ to be learning _._ He couldn’t destroy that… not yet.

Sonmi had turned off the music, probably thinking it was bothering him. He didn’t know how close, yet far off she was in that thought. She looked chagrined… and now he had another great reason to hate Unanimity’s corruption of all good things, because it had made sweet Sonmi think he was mad at her.

_Sweet Sonmi? Take it easy, Chang._

Well, she _was_ sweet. But he knew he was getting carried away, and he tried to hide the darkness in his heart, to smile reassuringly at her. She didn’t look convinced, and lowered her eyes sadly.

Damned if he was going to let Unanimity ruin everything. He turned and digited the piece of music that he had loved ever since he stumbled on it as a youth: Robert Frobisher’s Cloud Atlas Symphony.

She drew in a breath as the lovely theme returned, magnificently rendered now with the real wooden and stringed instruments of centuries past. Such sweetness and longing… bliss mingled with melancholy. Hearing it made his heart swell again, because no matter what, nothing could change the beauty of this music.

He had researched the composer, and the only information about Robert Frobisher to be found could be gleaned from his letters to his male lover, Rufus Sixsmith, when both were in their early 20s. The letters had been pretty difficult to digit, but Hae-Joo’s patient efforts to find something, anything, about the life of Frobisher were eventually rewarded. They had been published through a small, independent press in the early 21st century by a distinguished American physicist, of all people. However she had come by the letters, and whatever the reason she had published them, Hae-Joo was glad; they told a fascinating and tragic tale.

Frobisher had been disinherited by his family and practically thrown out of school for deviancy in his time, thanks to the wicked old prejudice against anything outside of the most rigid hetero-sexual expression; not all aspects of human culture before Unanimity had necessarily been better. From the wild fluctuations of his mind, it seemed Frobisher might also have had one of the old so-called mental illnesses. They had all since been eliminated by eugenics, though that had probably been for the worse.

In the earlier letters, the brilliant and confident young Frobisher excessively glorified his pompous, parasitic employer, an ailing older composer whose talents had clearly faded long ago. It seemed that Frobisher essentially composed his works for him. He claimed to be assisting and collaborating with the older man; however, Hae-Joo never read any evidence that the elder did much more than warble tuneless phrases, while Frobisher scribbled down his own musical ideas like an eager schoolboy. These were then published under the older composer’s name, to be lauded as daringly original, reviving his vanished fame. But tellingly, the old man never mentioned even the existence of his assistant to the public.

Reading between the lines, Hae-Joo suspected that Frobisher had been a bit in love with the older composer… or at least with the idea of his genius, and the connection between their souls. Frobisher described in one letter a night when his employer frantically roused him from bed, demanding to dictate to him a melody he had heard in a dream; however, when he could no longer remember it, the two men simply sat in their robes and pajamas and talked philosophy. Frobisher seemed deeply stirred by the encounter; in his own words, _It was music that poured from his eyes… that breathed from his lips… music as beautiful as any I have ever heard_.

The words themselves were beautiful, as well as passionately sensual; it was impossible not to be moved by them. Yet it was clear that only Frobisher could hear the music of which he wrote… and the only affair that Frobisher mentioned was with his employer’s wife, a lonely younger woman on a quest for intimacy. Frobisher seemed to view this as little more than a diversion, a favor to an attractive, curious woman bored by her stifled life with a sickly old man. And for all his mercurial interests and wanderings, Frobisher seemed to truly care for the recipient of his letters, the ever quiet Sixsmith.

Frobisher also inferred that his employer’s wife had been in love with a famous conductor, and he with her, before she married the older man; on the night that conductor visited their home, Frobisher noticed the tension in her body, and her abrupt departure from the dinner table. He later probed his employer, who reluctantly admitted that his wife and his colleague had had an undefined association in the past. However, his wife was a member of an ethnic minority, while the conductor came from a land then swept up in nationalism and prejudice against all deemed outsiders, and her ethnic group in particular.

Hae-Joo knew from historical record that the land’s government had not only been dabbling in Unanimic-style eugenics and experiments in Frobisher’s time, but had also been quietly implementing a policy of genocide, exterminating minorities, dissidents, and countless others labeled undesirable on a scale massive even by current standards.

Frobisher, however, was oblivious of all this, a fact he freely admitted in his letter: _At his point in my life all I know, Sixsmith, is that this world spins from the same unseen forces that twist our hearts…_ Hae-Joo had always been struck by that sentence. It seemed he could almost envision the conductor, eyes regretful, yet disturbingly cold as they followed the old composer’s unhappy wife out of the room…

There was also some obsessive rambling about a journal that Frobisher had been reading. It was written by a sickly lawyer journeying by sailing ship in a previous century, and Frobisher had been unable to finish it due to half of the book missing. These random, apparently irrelevant details had powerfully resonated in Hae-Joo… he felt as if _he_ knew the entire story of the lawyer’s journey, and had even digited to try to find the now centuries-old journal and confirm this. But it was apparently lost to history, too old and obscure for even his skills to locate.

He couldn’t have read it, yet he _knew_ he knew the story... intimately. Hae-Joo was certain that Frobisher was correct in his casual assumption that the lawyer’s doctor was not aiding him with his potions, but slowly poisoning him. He also knew that Frobisher had not even reached the most crucial chapter of the lawyer’s journey.

Yet how could Hae-Joo be so sure that a runaway African slave eventually appeared in the narrative, forcing a turning point not only in the lawyer’s journey over the ocean, but his life? He couldn’t explain it. He just knew it was the truth.

But the letters went on to conclude only Frobisher’s story; and it was only when the younger composer trustingly played the early version of his cherished Cloud Atlas for the elder, and the elder greedily tried to claim the work as his own, that the poison in their relationship was brought to the surface. Finally realizing how blind he had been, Frobisher scathingly vilified his employer, declaring his intention to leave immediately. The old man tried to keep him in check by threatening to smear his reputation, which would have been a cruelly easy task at the time, given the younger man’s sexual escapades. But Frobisher was determined to free himself, even if it condemned him.

That night, for reasons even he seemed unable to fully explain, Frobisher stole his employer’s revolver. As he packed his bags, he had a heated confrontation with the old man, who outright snatched the Cloud Atlas manuscript; in response, Frobisher shot him in the gut and snatched it back. He fled and developed his masterpiece into a full-fledged symphony while hiding from the authorities, impoverished, starving and sleep-deprived. He knew full well that the desperately worried Sixsmith had rushed across the country to aid him, having spotted his lover meters away, searching for him, as he sat atop the monument where he had described the daily sunrise in his letters.

Yet for reasons Hae-Joo would never fully grasp, Frobisher hid from Sixsmith, watching his lover fondly until he could slip away. And after this, the young composer was apparently content to return to his hotel room and shoot himself in the mouth. He left the completed Cloud Atlas and an affectionate farewell letter for his lover to find. Hae-Joo could not begin to imagine what Sixsmith's agony must have been at this discovery, perhaps only moments after the gruesome, irreversible act...

Surely his grieving lover had been entirely responsible for Frobisher’s music having any life at all after his death. Like a faithful Archivist preserving the stories of even the condemned for posterity, the quiet Sixsmith had seen that the Cloud Atlas was published under the name of Robert Frobisher. It had achieved little recognition. This was no doubt due to the efforts of the old composer, who survived to suppress the legacy of his former slave, who had dared to fight back. Yet the music had spoken for itself... or, rather, it had _sung,_ again and again. Its theme had evolved and been reborn countless times, to be heard by myriad souls; it would never be forgotten.

Frobisher’s story was one of blind self-deception, self-destruction, and glorious self-realization, all occurring simultaneously; Hae-Joo wouldn’t share it with Sonmi tonight. Its tragedy made it hard for even a free being to understand... though it was beautiful, too. But for right now, he wanted her to know only the beauty of the music.

As he gazed at her shining eyes, and he knew it was right for her to hear the Cloud Atlas now and love it. It was right, even though the theme was associated with her dream of xultation, that dearly awaited procession to supposed freedom, and she might later hate it when she learned the truth. It even seemed right for anyone to dream of freedom while listening this music; Hae-Joo knew that this must be how it had formed the fabricant hymn, somehow.

Sonmi’s path would be a bit like Frobisher’s, swaying rapidly from bliss to anguish, light to darkness, unchanging only in its constant uncertainty. Hae-Joo could only hope that she would see it clearly in the end.

 

They sat and listened to the Cloud Atlas Symphony all the way through. When it was finished, Sonmi sat in rapturous silence... but Hae-Joo wasn’t done yet.

After a few moments, he put on Frobisher’s earlier composition, the piece that later birthed the Symphony, and the only other work published in his name: the Cloud Atlas Sextet. He let her hear its more youthful, searching quality, the delicate piano arrangement that was sweeter, yet far more fragile than the great, fully realized Symphony. There were many perceivable differences between the two. But rather than flaws, they were merely less evolved characteristics... like those of a younger soul still early in its journey to enlightenment. It moved him to see the wonder in her face as she listened. And when it ended, without either saying a word, they listened to the Symphony all over again.

Then, he played for her several of his other favorites in western classical music: Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7, then Mozart’s Requiem, followed by that of Brahms. She was awestruck by the grandeur of the swelling, dancing, penetrating orchestral passages; the choruses now roaring, now echoing softly, and the soaring solo voices.

Then it was time for the piano again: Bach’s Goldberg Variations. Schubert’s Sonata in C minor, a certain Scarlatti sonata… somehow, Hae-Joo loved these pieces in a very intimate way. Sonmi seemed to adore them too, swaying gently with emotion. It made him look at her slender hands, and he found he could almost envision her slim fingers dancing delicately over old, wooden keys. Yet few pure-bloods were even familiar with such instruments anymore, and she would never have seen one… but didn’t he just see her fingers twitching?

Of course. She played wonderfully… she’d played these pieces for him, the first time he heard them.

She caught him looking at her, and smiled sweetly. He forgot everything but her smile, and the music.

The only thing that could have made those hours together even more lovely would have been to hold her close to him as they listened... to touch her, even once... but he knew he couldn’t.

 _You could if she asked you to… if she knew it was what she wanted, and chose it,_ the voice in his head said.

Perhaps… but no. Just _no_. It was too tantalizing, too fragile, and too unlikely a hope to even consider.

It was past her usual sleep hour now, and finally, Hae-Joo would get some rest at the same time she did. The last stimulant was well worn off by now, and as wonderful as their prolonged music-listening had been, the cumulative demands he’d been putting on his body had made him very tired.

She went to change into a white nightgown, and put on her pink-flowered robe again. That made him smile; it seemed to be her favorite. As she sipped her liquid protein, he turned up the habitat temperature for her, then went to don some sleeping clothes of his own, for a change. It was a bit warm for him, so he just pulled on light, loose pants, no shirt. He felt sure now that he wouldn’t need the tranquilizer for her, but he placed the phaser from his jacket within easy access on a shelf in the closet. She watched him doing so, her brow furrowing.

“It’s only a precaution,” he said reassuringly. Then he wondered, drowsily, if she knew yet just what a phaser was. “But it’s dangerous if you don’t know how to use it, so please don’t touch it. And, uh… don’t worry about it.” She seemed a bit confused by his conflicting messages, but she nodded, trusting as ever.

He felt a bit awkward again as he got out his mat and bedding. Naps were one thing; somehow, settling in for the night at the same time as her felt a great deal more intimate. He spread his mat on the floor, not too near her mattress... but the flat wasn’t that big, so near enough. She was sitting on her bed, not lying down yet... and it was now quite obvious that she was staring at him.

Well, for all she knew, he didn’t sleep at night, and this was a major change—but no, her eyes were clearly lingering on his body. He realized that his low-slung black pajama pants gave her even more to see than when he exercised.

 _It’s just curiosity._ He stifled the warmth that threatened to rise in him. Anyway, he was tired enough that he knew he would fall asleep easily, regardless.

As he lowered himself to the mat, he looked back at her one more time. Strangely, she hadn’t finished her drink. It was on the floor next to her… she always brought it to the disposal bin when she was done. Nor had she put her pillow aside. She was just sitting there on the mattress, fiddling restlessly with the folded blanket, not looking ready for sleep at all...

He almost laughed—now that he had finally decided to sleep when she did, she wasn’t sleepy, even past her normal hour. But he was exhausted, and she could stay up longer if she wanted; read, put on more music, watch a vidi, or just think. She’d be fine. Perhaps the music had given her a lot to think about; she did look like she had a lot on her mind.

“Are you okay, Sonmi?” he asked her softly.

She seemed about to ask him something, only to think better of it. She looked almost worried... was it because she saw that he wasn't going to watch over her tonight?

He spoke gently. “Normally I rest at night, just like you, but I stayed up to make sure you were all right these last few nights. And you've done wonderfully, night and day." He couldn't stop a note of pride from creeping into his voice, and he thought he saw a slight hint of a blush in her cheeks. He continued, warmly.

"I need to sleep a bit now, but you don't have to lie down yet if you’re not ready. I’ll leave you some light. And you can use the orison if you want, I’ll block it out. I’ll set my wake-up for four hours from now, but if you need anything before then, I'll be right here. Okay?”

He waited to see if she would respond. She did look relieved; she nodded, then gave him her tiny smile. He smiled back at her, touched as ever to see it. He was about to turn away when she spoke, very shyly.

“Good night.”

His heart squeezed to hear her say those two simple words to him for the first time. “Good night,” he answered… longing to take her in his arms all over again. But he turned away from her at last, and lay down.

He lowered the light to a relaxed, rosy glow from the habitat screen; activated the wall viewscreen, in case she wanted to gaze on the city at night. Then, he programmed the habitat screen to match the beams of the sun again when it rose… he loved seeing her in that light. Finally, he set his sony to filter out any late-night digiting by her, and to wake him the next day. Then, he pulled the blanket up over his hips, and closed his eyes.


	8. Memories

Almost immediately, she was in his arms, his beautiful red-haired bride, she whom he loved and desired the most. Her sweet, passionate surrender consumed him with fire, with the need to fill her, to take her, to please her, forever and ever…

Unlike many young men of his means and station, he’d been as inexperienced as she was their first time. At university, he had noticed his fellow students dallying whenever they could, usually with girls of lower class. He had watched them enjoy their mistresses, then drop them like forgotten playthings when their families finally introduced them to the young ladies they were intended to marry.

But his parents had already passed away, leaving him a decent inheritance that would finance his law education and eventually enable him to start his own practice. He had always been drawn to the idea of eloquently arguing and negotiating just dealings among his fellow men, and he wished to prepare himself for an attorney’s career as well as he could, without distractions. In addition, he had always been rather shy around girls; and the dalliances of his peers seemed so callous, besides. So he resolved to excel in his education and establish himself well in legal practice. Then, perhaps, he might go about doing whatever it was you did to find a wife.

And so he had devoted himself to his studies, hoping they and the profession for which they were preparing him would fill the emptiness he sometimes felt. Indeed, he had high intentions that they would help him contribute to some higher purpose in the world. The world was a complicated place, her people's classes and races so sharply divided; this seemed to be an injustice to his young mind. However, many of the most respected thinkers and authorities of his time spoke of the natural order of human beings: the need, even the God-given _right_ of a few men to hold the highest rank and privilege, while others were worthy of only some, and many more little, or none at all. Unresolved, he threw himself into his studies, telling himself that there could be no calling higher than justice, and that, somehow, it could be cleanly reconciled with the world’s so-called natural order.

Then he met her.

She was the only child of his most esteemed professor’s widowed friend, himself a distinguished businessman and an advocate of the natural order. His business was slavery, and he was a most eloquent apologist for it, expounding on its merits as a prolific writer and speaker; indeed, his powerful, somehow cold gaze seemed the very definition of righteous authority. The law student went with his professor one night to dine in a large gathering at the businessman’s home... and from the moment he laid eyes on her, he knew his heart was hers.

The young red-haired lady seemed so shy and delicate, so dependent on her highly protective father; yet in her wide green eyes he seemed to see depths of truth that he had dreamed of for his whole life and beyond. And in her sweet, quiet way of looking at him, of speaking in her soft voice the insignificant niceties of their day—the only conversation permitted them—he knew that she was as powerfully drawn to him as he was to her.

Her father seemed to notice this, and bid the student goodbye rather curtly at the end of the evening. His professor did not ask him to accompany him on his next visit to the businessman’s home, and the student strongly suspected he was no longer welcome.

He made discrete inquiries. Apparently, the businessman was forbidding of any potential suitor for his carefully sheltered, apparently fragile daughter, the only family he had left. It was said that he wished his daughter to remain at his home with him until his death.

But now that the law student had met her, he knew he would never be happy until he wed her.

For three years, he did all he could to gain her father’s approval. He strove to obtain only the highest marks, to comport himself with impeccable manners, to cultivate the acquaintance of numerous potential future clients, all in order to launch his career as successfully as he could. He hoped that he could win the businessman over with his diligence, with his professional and financial prospects. He also went out of his way to attend the man’s frequent public lectures and debates, where he listened carefully, conceding many of the eloquently argued points to the man in his conscious mind, even as the deeper issues rankled somewhere in his soul.

He crossed paths with the young lady on rare but joyous occasions around town; he might see her browsing the shop for pretty threads and patterns, or sitting in the park with her nose tucked in a book, the plump, beady-eyed maid who oversaw her ever close by. He always greeted her with the same respect he would afford any well-bred young lady of his acquaintance. She would respond in kind to him, the well-mannered student of her father’s friend who’d once dined at her home. But their faces told a different story, their eyes lingering on each other as long as they could, as the maid watched with a knowing smirk.

He had begun to go to concerts. At first it had been in the hopes of mingling with his future clientele, but he had been surprised at how much he enjoyed the performances, how the music soothed his soul and took him away from everyday cares. Also, the lovely redhead sometimes accompanied her father to concerts; soon, he found himself attending them whenever he could. On those precious evenings, he would glance secretly across the audience at her sweet face, always delightfully lost in the music. At times he would imagine that it was just the two of them, listening together for hours on end…

When they crossed paths in the interval, the businessman would return the lawyer’s proffered greeting with grave politeness; still, he always found some excuse to lead his daughter away quickly. Yet he had begun to notice the law student at his speaking engagements, and the law student began to find occasion to engage the businessman in brief conversation after his orations. He would bring up the points he had found the most interesting or controversial, allowing the businessman to expound on his beliefs even more. The lawyer occasionally brought up possible arguments, always with a detached politeness, never outright disagreeing, as if it were all merely an exercise in rhetoric. And the businessman always managed to eloquently and thoroughly refute him. But the man also seemed gradually to warm to him, at least as a potential follower of his philosophy; at last, he invited him to accompany his professor again to the dinner gatherings at his home.

There he could share more precious glances, more quiet and polite words with the beautiful redhead, despite the presence of numerous other guests, even under her father’s strict gaze. He knew from those furtively joyful glances and words that she was waiting for him; that she wanted to marry him as much as he did her, and that she would wait for as long as it took him to win her.

Thanks to years of unflagging diligence, the law student graduated with highest honors, passed the bar with flying colors, and finally launched his new practice. Quite soon, the businessman began to retain the newly made lawyer in some of his dealings, chiefly in the slave trade. The young man applied himself fervently to the tasks, giving the elder no cause whatsoever to complain, only to praise his work. He took on other clients also, yet the most lucrative of his assignments came from the businessman. And so the lawyer tucked his growing scruples away in a corner of his heart, unseen and unexpressed for the time being.

After he had had his own practice for a year, he finally felt ready to broach the subject of courting the businessman’s daughter. He brought up the matter formally one evening after dinner, when the daughter had withdrawn and all the other guests had left.

He hated to present his argument absent her presence, as if this were a legal dispute and she a piece of property; but in truth, by the customs of her father and many others of the day, that was the very situation. This was a young land, and a number of bold voices were urging courses that went against the supposedly natural order and the laws of convention... even trying to force change. And part of him wished he could join his voice to theirs, at least in this matter: to tell the father that he wished to marry his daughter, and she wished to marry him, and so they would wed, no matter what the older man said. But the father was an influential local figure, not to mention his best client, so the lawyer did not feel easy at all about alienating him. He also dreaded to call down even a hint of scandal on her, and on himself. In any case, what kind of life would they have if they wed without her father’s permission, and what right had he to force such a drastic choice on her?

No, he would utilize polite, eloquent argument for his cause, all the while making his best effort to adhere to propriety and convention; this was not a rebellion. And so he began, and the businessman listened silently as he presented his case.

Indeed, he was sure that the father had been well aware of the affection that he felt for his daughter, beginning at their first meeting. In fact, he admired her more than he had thought it possible to admire any human being; however, it being as far as possible from his intentions to offend either daughter or father, he had had nothing but the most brief and genteel contact with her throughout their acquaintance these last few years. And yet, as a young lawyer of his academic accomplishments, with a well-established and growing practice and income, he felt more than certain that he could provide for the businessman’s daughter in all the ways a young lady of her station and known delicacy required. Therefore, if it were agreeable to him, he greatly hoped that he might begin to see the daughter as a potential suitor in the near future, and to pursue the possibility of a match… and he was well open to an extended courtship period while the businessman observed his developing career, and evaluated whether his daughter would likely be pleased with him as a husband. Indeed, he very much admired the businessman’s well-known devotion to his daughter; yet, rather than worry about her means of support and source of companionship when he eventually passed, as all men must, would he not feel better knowing that she had a husband who was a most trusted business associate, and man whose efforts to ensure her comfort and happiness for the rest of her life would never be in doubt?

He’d said too much, far too much; but paradoxically, as he watched the businessman’s silent face grow colder and colder, he found himself less and less able to stop.

When he finally paused to draw breath, the businessman abruptly withdrew. Not a word that he would consider the matter, nor the dignity of _“No,”_ which he clearly meant... not even a good night. It was left to one of the many discrete, dark-skinned servants to show the lawyer out. 

The lawyer felt utterly lost and deflated. He wondered what else he could have said or done, and what he could possibly do now. His heart ached abominably, for he could not conceive of life without her.

Miserable weeks passed. He received no more dinner invitations, and he had neither sightings of her nor dealings with her father in that time. Documents he had expected from the businessman for an upcoming matter failed to arrive, and the businessman did not appear at their next scheduled appointment. He called at their home many times; each time, he was politely yet insistently turned away by the servants, to his repeated disappointment and embarrassment. The businessman was constantly out, or ailing, or simply unavailable, and it could never be said when he would be able to receive him.

The lawyer knew that with his bid for courtship so clearly refused, asking after the daughter would be the height of impudence... and so he did not, much as he wanted to. It was a bit unseemly, but he could not help scanning the house’s windows during his futile calls, desperate for even a momentary glimpse of her; yet they were always curtained. He longed to write her, but it was taboo to write a young lady he hadn’t been permitted to court. He knew that she would never read his letters anyway, while her father certainly would. The thought of those cold eyes perusing the words of his soul crushed him.

Wildly, he considered breaking into her house as she slept and spiriting her away in the night. But how could he even think of such thing? He was a lawyer, and he had taken an oath to uphold justice, not incite disorder. And yet, it was the father who was being unjust... but the lawyer felt utterly powerless.

After many weeks, he finally gave up his humiliating, fruitless calls to her home. He tried to distract himself with work, and his remaining clients were all much pleased with his work. Yet his heart was broken.

About three months after he had spoken to the businessman, a young, brown-skinned boy knocked at his office. He held out to the lawyer a ripped and hastily folded scrap of rough paper, which bore no address. Before the lawyer could take it, the boy opened his mouth, and revealed him to be exceedingly well-spoken for his color, as well as his age.

First, rather self-importantly, he verified that he had located the note’s intended recipient; he had. Then he told the lawyer with great respect and boldness simultaneously that it gave him the utmost pleasure to deliver this highly important message, and he counted himself fortunate to have been able to offer assistance when it was required. Then he handed over the paper and scampered off before the lawyer could say another word.

The lawyer watched the small figure run away, surprised and confused. He felt certain he’d seen that boy somewhere, sometime… then he unfolded the note, saw faint, hurried yet graceful handwriting, and read the words: “We will be together. I won’t let you go.” And he was filled with sweet hope. 

Immediately after the hope, a wave of affection for the young deliverer of this precious message came over him. He looked quickly in the direction he had disappeared, wishing to thank him, to offer him something for his efforts, but the dear boy was gone.

So he sank back in his chair and reread her note, over and over. He could see her face before him, and feel the slender hands that had held lead to paper; hands he had neither touched nor held but now, somehow, _knew_ that he would.

His courage renewed, he called at her home every day. He continued to be turned away; some of the servants showed their exasperation, while others barely concealed their amusement, but he no longer felt embarrassed by either reaction. In fact, he even asked the dark-skinned butler after the businessman’s daughter. He was extremely gratified when the butler, with barely a twitch of his eyebrows, responded civilly that the young lady was well before shutting the door on him. He continued to ask, and the response never varied, although soon, the butler’s lips were twitching suspiciously toward a smile.

It gave the lawyer great joy to daily enable the chance that she might glimpse him, faithful and devoted, through a gap in the curtains. It would be his own message back to her. He still did not write her, even as a rebellious gesture to her father, for to write a young lady he hadn’t been permitted to court was simply too great an audacity; but he did write her father directly every two days, requesting with impeccable courtesy to see him again and allow him to plead his case anew.

More weeks passed, and no more notes arrived, but he was ever aware of his connection to her, her presence in his heart. Even as he longed for her, he never felt truly lonely. They _would_ be together; he was certain of it now. Some nights when he worked late at his practice, he thought of her so often that he felt as if he might turn around to discover her standing behind him, having woken up and crept out of bed to find him. Once, feeling an uncanny prickling at his back, he had to turn and look, and for an instant he saw her. Her eyes looked startled, even frightened, and an overwhelming tenderness welled up within him... strangely, she was clad in a scant white shift, and her hair was short and dark; then she was gone, and he wondered if he had dreamed it. Yet dream or not, the vision was surely an omen of their future.

As his wife told him later, it was her own brave battle that eventually won the cause.

It had been clear from her father’s demeanor after he came upstairs what had transpired on the night the lawyer spoke with him. She had immediately initiated brave pleading on their behalves, asking her father to release her from his guardianship, to let her join with the best and only man she could imagine for her husband; for her father, if he loved her, to grant her this great happiness, the only thing she had ever truly wanted for herself. But her pleas met first curt refusals, then heated reprimands. Finally, there was only cold silence, and the door to her room slamming shut behind him.

She was quite frightened of her father, and she shed a great many tears, both while she begged him and after he left her, alone and bereft. But her determination was stronger than either fear or tears, and she found the courage to renew her pleas to him every evening. He angrily bound her in on all sides: confining her to the house, forbidding her to write, even locking up the notepaper and writing implements in his office for good measure. He instructed her maid to watch her strictly, and the other servants to turn the lawyer away; even to keep the doors locked, windows shut and curtains drawn, making the house a dim and stifling prison.

But sometimes when the doorbell rang, her maid happened to be looking the other way, and she peeked quickly through a gap in the curtains; she often saw messengers and delivery boys, but she also managed a few, brief sightings of the lawyer. He looked so crestfallen when the servants dismissed him, his sad eyes searching the windows but unable to see her. How she longed to call out to him; but she could not bring herself yet to act so boldly, and so she remained quiet. Still, the very sight of him gave her the courage to continue her fight.

One spring day, the doorbell rang, and she managed to creep away from her drowsing maid’s side. She peered through the curtain of the front window, but she only saw a brown-skinned boy leaving a package.

Some rebellious servant had propped the window a bit to let air into the warm house, and she suddenly considered opening it fully and climbing out… but then she became afraid. What if she made a great noise and was caught? How angry her father would be… and anyway, how would she be able to find the lawyer by herself in the big town? She felt a helpless, irrational terror at the mere thought of going outside alone; it was something she had never been allowed to do in her life.

No, this was not the moment for her to escape; her fight was different right now. But she realized that this was her chance to send a message, and she whispered out the window to the departing boy. Could he please help her with something very important? Had he a scrap of paper and something, anything she might write with?

The boy looked intrigued, and eagerly assisted her, ripping a piece of paper from a package, fishing a bit of lead from his pocket, and holding them both to the window. She grabbed them, hastily wrote her message, and was just handing it to the boy through the window and whispering the lawyer’s name when her maid caught her by the shoulders. But the boy ran off with the note, grinning encouragingly back at her, and she felt certain that her message would be delivered. And sure enough, the boy hunted down the lawyer’s office and brought him hope.

It occurred to the lawyer after she told him the story that a slave actually had very little business carrying a bit of writing lead in his pocket, as literacy was forbidden them. But then, he _had_ been a very bold boy; or perhaps he had not been a slave, as there were a very few legally free brown- and dark-skinned people in the town. It seemed highly unlikely, though. The lawyer would catch himself wondering about the eager boy with his writing lead from time to time, but he never saw him in that town again. Whoever the boy had been, both the lawyer and his wife were forever grateful for the help he had given them.

When the maid reported the daughter’s defiant act to her father, he punished her by forbidding her access to the precious books that had become her main solace in confinement. She’d already lost the privilege of calls and conversation from her young lady acquaintances in the very first week of her battle, and her beloved piano had been locked shut a month later.

But as she slaved at the intricate, monotonous needlework that was the only pastime left to her over the next weeks, she reread her favorite books in her head, and played her dear Bach and Schubert on a piano that she envisioned. She thought affectionately of her few young lady friends, gracefully smiling and chatting at tea with her as they had used to… especially of the rather outspoken one. She was the one most different from herself, with her quick and clever ways, and sometimes she said things that made one gasp and giggle. Yet she was somehow also the dearest, and she wished she’d had her for a sister… but most of all, she dreamed of the lawyer. Of his gentle eyes, his kind and handsome face, his soft voice… of being close to him at last.

Her maid watched her more closely than ever, and she was now specifically forbidden to approach the windows. Still, her ears pricked at every ring of the doorbell, and she managed to move silently to the curtains and peep between them on a few more occasions, when her maid had a momentary lapse of attention. Finally, once again, she saw him. She knew that the lawyer was unable to see her; yet he gazed towards the windows as if he could, glowing with affection. She was overjoyed to know that he had gotten her note, and believed.

After that, she felt often that he was already with her. In her mind, they read together, and he listened with pleasure to her at her piano. They sat side by side and enjoyed a concert, listening to beautiful music that she had not yet heard, but would love. They shared a fond smile when she remembered something that her bold young lady friend had said. He sat in peaceful quiet with her, and he also talked with her, no longer of the meaningless and polite, but of real things. And he held her, and touched her, making her feel things she could only imagine… sometimes she stirred with a blush from her daydreams, not even knowing quite what she was dreaming of. Yet she knew that she was ready with all her heart to give herself to him, and find out.

She was certain that she would win her fight with her father in the end. She knew he had much loved the mother who died at her birth; she had realized as she grew up that his overprotectiveness of her was part of his grief at that loss, which he had never fully accepted. He was so afraid of life’s pain striking again that he kept her, the last remnant of her mother, the only family he had at all, in an iron grip. He had taught her that she was frail, and tried to keep her as isolated from the dangerous world as possible. He did not realize how selfish he was to try to keep her for himself, how unjust it was to prevent her from experiencing both the pains and the joys of life for herself; but she now did. She also knew that it was her father’s fear of his own helplessness against the inevitable forces of fate that made him crave power, power over all people he told himself were weaker than him…. over her.

Yet for all his ruthless attempts to control her, her father loved her in his own way; he had not yet lost that. She spoke no word to him now but to renew her pleas, staring up at him in silent defiance at all other times, and she could see even in his harsh eyes that this increasingly bothered him. He had expected her to simply forget her feelings for the lawyer in time, but she could not, nor would she ever: in fact, her feelings had only grown stronger the longer she fought. And her father was not entirely unmoved by her tears as she begged him, night after night, to consider her happiness, for he was not yet so cruel as that. She could see it in his face, in the slightest softening of his cold scowl.

He was starting to understand that even if he never released her, he would have lost her regardless, and in a far worse way than if she wed. Though she had feared and obeyed him for her entire life, she believed that if she only refused to bow to him now, he would eventually be unable to withstand her.

She was right. Three more months after the lawyer received the note, the businessman called at his firm. He stated politey, though with obvious reluctance, that he had considered the matter at great length, and he would now approve the match.

The lawyer tried to temper his elation, with little success. He thanked the businessman profusely, assuring him that he would never regret what had undoubtedly been a very difficult decision.

But the businessman was intimidating, even in defeat. He stated that he had no objections to an immediate and short betrothal; this excited but confused the lawyer, and he told the father cautiously that he had no objections either, but would also be satisfied with an engagement period of conventional duration. Indeed, he could only feel joy—and the father interrupted him with lethal insistence, saying that after such intense consideration, he had no more desire for delay, and would feel best if the wedding occurred as soon as he could decently arrange it at his own church. Then, bidding the lawyer good-bye, he left. And the lawyer had to realize that the father simply wished to keep his daughter’s triumphant engagement as short and under his control as possible.

As the lawyer glowed with her during their few brief, decorous yet ecstatic betrothal visits, the father was polite but cold. He made no real pretense at joining in their joy, and simply withdrew in silence. And somehow, her maid and chaperone always stood to lead her off and end the visits earlier than they expected.

Still, the day of the wedding was the happiest of the lawyer’s life. Even the father presiding over the ceremony himself could not have dampened his joy at his radiant bride: at her charming figure in the graceful white dress, her slender hands as she slipped the gold ring onto his finger, the softness of her lips as they kissed at last… but most of all at her sweet, adoring gaze, only for him.

He did feel a shadow in his heart at the celebration after the ceremony as, before all the gathered guests, his bride’s father put a heavy hand on his shoulder and spoke of him eloquently as his dear son now, as well as his trusted business partner. The cold hypocrisy of his words stung the lawyer’s soul; and it also seemed that their business dealings, which still bothered him, must now continue indefinitely. The father even announced his intention to send him on an ocean voyage to a far-off isle to handle a very important contract, concerning the sale of a large number of slaves, in half a year; indeed, only his son-in-law could be trusted with such a matter. Surely, it would be a long and exhausting journey, not without its dangers; far worse, it would take him away from his wife for months. The lawyer was very reluctant, but his new father-in-law offered him such generous payment that he felt much pressure to take the assignment—he had, after all, promised the businessman to provide well for his daughter. And so he accepted. It was all likely exactly as the businessman had intended, and he would probably never lose his chilling, controlling attitude toward the lawyer, or anyone else he deemed unworthy.

However, all shadows were far away as he carried his glowing bride over the threshold of their home. It was a handsome new townhouse that they had chosen together. Her father had then declared his intention to buy it for them outright, but the lawyer had politely but vehemently insisted on negotiating a bank loan for it at a fair interest rate. He would easily be able to pay it off through his earnings over the next few years while still supporting his wife and himself comfortably, and he had refused to yield. At last, her father had given up, even showing the slightest hint of grudging respect for his son-in-law-to-be. And the lawyer had been relieved that at least his and his wife’s own house would not remind him of his father-in-law’s authority for as long as he lived in it.

He did allow her father to gift them some of the furnishings for their new home, as the custom. Other than her beloved piano and a few heirlooms, most of the furniture and decorations were new, selected with much care by his red-haired love with a bit of help from her friends—particularly her closest, a clever, outspoken young lady he greatly liked. He had found that every piece she considered looked lovely with her next to it, and done little more than approve whatever she chose, and look on fondly at her pleasure in the pretty new things.

And now they were in their bedroom together; shy at first as they kissed, and nervously helped each other undress, having very little idea of what to do or expect. But they had loved and wanted and waited for each other so long and intensely, that making love soon followed easily. As he tenderly explored her body, he felt even in his lingering shyness a sense of coming home at last… while she, to his amazement, seemed less shy than he, abandoning herself with trembling excitement to his explorations. She was so beautiful... and she seemed to trust him utterly, encouraging him with her sweet gasps, her soft, tantalizing touches, as if they already knew each other by heart…

When he entered her, she gave a small cry of pain—one of the only things they had both known to expect. But she smiled through her tears as he cupped her cheek.

 _Are you all right?_ he asked her, trying to hold as still as possible.

 _I love you,_ was all she said.

 _I love you,_ he told her back, his own eyes welling up with tears of joy, the same joy he saw reflected in hers. Then he couldn’t hold back anymore, and he began to move in her, as gently as he could. She breathed slowly as she gazed trustingly at him, her body accepting him... soon, she was pulling herself closer to him, her breath quickening, emboldening him... and then, they were both gasping, as fierce passion took hold of them both…

They held each other afterward, panting, hearts pounding together. As he gazed into her shining eyes, he could hardly believe that anything in life could be this sweet. He would never let her go.


	9. Falling

Her cheek was resting on his heart, her hair tickling his skin, her breath warm on his face… but this was no longer a dream, a memory. This was happening now. _How…?_ Hae-Joo’s head jerked up, his face nearly brushing Sonmi’s as he woke with a gasp.

She rose from his chest with a startled murmur, looking chagrined. But her face remained close, glowing in the sunrise light as he stared at her… then her cheeks flushed, her eyes softening with something inexplicable; something that warmed him within, and drew him inexorably toward her.

 _What am I doing?_ He was still panting, disoriented… yet this was right, so right... something he had done before, and longed to do again. He moved closer to her.

The alert sounded in his ear. _No._ He tore his face away from hers and looked swiftly toward the door—still intact—while the call came in. _“They’re burning in now, get out of there!”_

So the Enforcers had eluded Union’s surveillance of the building entrance; those agents were likely dead. That gave Hae-Joo and Sonmi only a minute—the same amount of time he’d estimated their escape would take, if they moved quickly.

He turned back to Sonmi, and now she was the one who looked confused. “They’ve found us,” he whispered to her.

He bounded up, grasping her arm, and drew her behind him as he waved open the closet, then the bathroom. He grabbed his phaser from the closet and pulled her toward the bathroom window, glancing back at the door as Sonmi clutched at him fearfully, understanding now that they were in danger. He could hear the piercing hiss, see the dark singe of the lasers starting to burn through the door.

He pulled his arm from her grasp, clicked the window open, and tucked the phaser into his waistband—of _course_ he’d have on nothing but pajama pants right now. As the wind roared into the bathroom, he squatted to lift the massively heavy escape bridge box to the sill. He shot another glance at the door as the box opened and anchored; he could now see glowing orange circles as the lasers hissed through it. Her eyes followed his, then returned to his face, and he could see his anxiety mirrored in hers.

The box was ready. He fired the bar across the gulf to embed in the opposite skyscraper, and the narrow bridge assembled in seconds. The instant it was complete, he climbed over the sill and onto the bridge, turned back, and held out his hand. She looked at him in bewildered dismay.

“I’ll be with you the whole way. Now, focus on me,” he told her, swiftly, his voice as calm as he could make it; his example would help her as much as his assistance. She willingly took his hand and let him help her onto the bridge. Then she gave a strangled gasp—“ _Hae-Joo!”—_ and shut her eyes as the smoggy sunrise view from two hundred ten stories assailed her.

Unlike him, she’d had no training to aid her here. She hadn’t even been to a high, open place in all her life. Time was running out, but he must not let her panic, all the way up here…

“ _Stay with me_ ,” he urged her as he backed up, holding her hands firmly. Her eyes opened and sought his as she moved toward him, step by step. _Good._ She was scared, but she could do this. “Right here,” he encouraged her. “I won’t let you go.”

They were a third of the way across when her anxious eyes drifted from his face, downward… _No…_ he tried to keep her moving, but she froze; then she swayed, and lurched toward him with a terrified cry.

He braced himself to catch her; grasped her firmly and pressed his face to her neck, desperate. He’d underestimated how frightened she would be, and the effect it would have on him as well. But he _had_ to calm her down, somehow, and get her across… he felt her heart racing against his own, her hands grasping him frantically, her panicked breaths in his ear... then the door blew.

As shouting Enforcers burst into the flat and ran to the window, training and instinct took over. He pulled out his phaser and shot one, as she squeezed him in terror. Spun her away from him to avoid the return fire, and shot several more; saw her teetering on one foot, shrieking, whirled her to safety behind him and fired again. There were only a couple of Enforcers left. He spun for a better shot, his arm around her, and they were all dead. But now there was an aero rising toward the bridge… _shit_ …

He scooped her up and bolted toward the opposite skyscraper, barely ahead of the aero’s phasers. Even his training hadn’t quite prepared him for this, but it was the only way. His feet propelled them over the narrow shingles as the opposite building got closer… they were nearly there…

But the aero’s phasers cut them off at the last stretch. They mangled the shingles wherever they hit, leaving little more than the center bar intact. _Shit…_ he’d have to put her down, shoot the aero down, and figure a way to get her over the last section afterward.

He turned around, knelt on the bridge and carefully set Sonmi down. He saw the tears in her eyes, heard her whimper, “ _No!”_ And he felt a wrench deep inside him. He cupped her face in his hand for an instant and gazed at her, trying to comfort her, to tell her in that brief second that he’d be back for her. Then he had to let her go.

She tried to hold onto his arm... crawled desperately after him as he backed away, shooting at the aero, dancing away from the phasers, balancing on the center bar—but then, something went wrong. His feet were in the air, and he was falling.

 

He would never know what exactly had made him fall—the blinding phasers, the shingles disintegrating along his feet, the despair in Sonmi’s face... maybe they all had. In any case, it nearly proved fatal for them both.

As he fell, time seemed to freeze. He thought that he had failed Sonmi and himself both; that he would die in seconds, and she the next day. He shouldn’t have lived. Yet a number of things happened, and these things connected to other things, past, present, and future; all of them helped him to survive, and to save her.

A vision of the runaway slave and stowaway, who had begged for the lawyer to help him earn passage as a sailor, flashed across his mind. The dark man was falling through the air, just as Hae-Joo was. But there was a rope in his hands, and the other end was attached to the mast of the sailing ship; he was falling by his own choice, demonstrating some of his spectacular ship skills from his former life, before he was made a slave.

 _Well, a rope attached to anything would be great right about now,_ Hae-Joo thought. He heard Sonmi scream his name, far above... and there _was_ a cable of some kind extending between two scaffolding towers, rushing toward him fast. He reached out…

The lawyer thought he had persuaded the drunken, surly captain to give the stowaway a fair chance to prove himself. But even as the dark man ran to obey the captain’s order, grabbing a coil of rope and ascending the mast with astonishing speed, the captain ordered his first mate to ready his musket. The lawyer was horrified. He pleaded with the captain, who pompously rebuffed him. And the first mate took aim at the dark figure above, agilely balancing and swiftly working with the rope along the crossbeam, seemingly oblivious to both the motion of the sea and the weapon fixed on him.

As the dark man bounded across the narrow beam, the rope in his hands, as excellent a seaman as he’d claimed, the lawyer felt a mixture of pride, shame and desperation. He had thought the man a savage at first, with his dark skin, strange tattoos, and broken speech. He’d been terrified when the man crept up behind him in the ship’s cargo hold, where he’d been isolated in his illness; but the dark man only begged for his help, and claimed that they knew each other. And the lawyer recognized the stowaway as the slave he had seen being viciously whipped by an overseer while he went about his father-in-law’s business.

The sight had shocked him; even stirred him to pity the suffering human eyes that met his across the distance, fixing him in a powerful gaze... and then he had passed out. It had been due to a combination of the intense heat, the onset of his illness, and horror at the brutality of this business, though he had not yet been ready to admit the latter.

No, he had not initially been inclined to heed the dark man’s plea. The runaway had broken the law; he was a slave, and looked to be a rough savage besides. He had no business running away, sneaking onto a ship, and trying to be a sailor. Although he could well understand the man’s desperation to escape, if such cruelty was typical in the life of a slave… but the dark man’s fate was no concern of his. He told him so.

Then, the dark man pressed his knife into the lawyer’s hands and told him to kill him on the spot. The lawyer scoffed in disbelief, but the man forced the lawyer’s hand with the blade to his own throat, holding it there; if the lawyer refused to help, he said, he'd soon be thrown overboard anyway. He preferred to die this way.

The lawyer gazed at the dark face, twisted with despair. Then he wrenched his hand away from the runaway’s throat, dropping the knife, and stood for a long moment without looking at him.

His soul was forced to concede the truth of the man’s words. He would certainly die without help; the lawyer was in a position to offer help. But how could he help such a creature? If his father-in-law ever found out…

But then he found his thoughts focusing on his beloved wife. She would pity this desperate man, even more so than the lawyer did. She would certainly understand his temptation to help, no matter the consequences; at the very least, she would wish for him to show the poor wretch some kindness...

He could hear the noises of the crew above, gathering for supper. If he did not join them soon, his solicitous doctor friend would surely come down to look for him, and the stowaway would be discovered. He looked back at the dark man, catching his intense, beseeching gaze for another moment. Then he tore his face away, and went up to supper.

At table among the drunken, ill-mannered crew, the lawyer's mind spun... but then this mind focused on a simple fact: the dark man must be hungry. For what could he possibly find to eat in the cargo hold… rats? The lawyer shuddered. No man deserved that, runaway slave or not. He carefully snuck some food from the table into his napkin.

When he returned to the hold, the fugitive was nowhere to be seen. The lawyer carefully closed the door, moving a barrel in front of it for good measure, and called to him. The dark man peered out timidly, and was elated when the lawyer gave him the food, thanking him with touching warmth in his eyes. As he ate ravenously, the lawyer cautiously asked him questions.

The man looked and spoke very differently than he did, and he had certainly lived a very different life than he had. Yet despite it all, the lawyer felt a surprising sense of kinship with him as they spoke. He learned that the dark man had been captured and sold into slavery after years of sailing the world as a boy; it was even harder to blame him for running away after that. Somehow, the lawyer had thought all slaves perfectly bred for the positions they were born into, but he had been wrong.

He was even more startled to learn that the dark man already considered him a friend, based on one brief, painful meeting of their eyes... and yet the lawyer himself could not deny the power, the _connection _he had felt at that moment.__

Now, despite the lawyer’s efforts with the captain, the dark man was about to be shot, even as he demonstrated his extraordinary prowess. It was horribly wrong, and the lawyer simply could not watch this human being get slaughtered. He must act drastically, _now_. He reached out, grasping at the first mate's musket...

Somehow Hae-Joo grabbed the steelsilk cable as he fell past it. It snapped, but somehow he grasped the end as he continued to fall, and wound it around his hands. And somehow, the cable held at its other end, its strong but flexible fibers stretching as powerful forces pulled Hae-Joo's body downward; there was a slicing, crushing sensation in his hands, followed by searing pain…

 _Time for you to let go that rope_ , the rotting devil with cold eyes growled in his brother-in-law’s ear, as the man’s bleeding hands frantically clutched another rope. _You trespass, you pay the price,_ the demon whispered menacingly.

The brown-skinned woman in white was bound to the other end of the rope, clutching it desperately. She was an outsider visiting the brother’s island and village, staying in his home, to his sister’s enthusiasm and his own reluctance. They were ascending this cliff to get to the peak of the devil’s mountain, so the brown woman could fulfill her mysterious quest.

He had promised to guide her here if she healed his sister’s little girl, dying from the sting of a poisonous fish. It had been unbearable to see the sweet girl fading away, and the despair of his watching sister, so soon after the cruel deaths of her mate and boy… deaths that the brother had done nothing to prevent. But he had realized that he _could_ do something now, and rushed to the brown-skinned woman. He had spied on her the first night, and seen her swiftly and secretly healing her cuts with a strange instrument. He knew that she had the power to save the little girl.

At first, she had sadly refused his plea. She said that her people took an oath not to share their power with less advanced tribes, lest they interfere with the natural order of the world. He angrily asked her what she would do if a member of her own tribe lay poisoned and dying, and saw how distraught this made her, yet she had remained silent... until he swore to grant her wish and lead her to the top of the cursed mountain. She had said she needed a guide, and he had thought her insane; but this he would do, if she healed his niece. After a long hesitation, she had agreed; giving him a funny-looking device from her pack, she instructed him to prick the child’s arm with it while no one was looking. He did, and the little girl swiftly recovered, to the overjoyed tears of his sister and himself. Then, the brother honored his word.

They had journeyed hours to the mountain, making their way over treacherous rocks, the slope of the ground ever increasing. When they finally reached a cliff that required climbing, she produced a marvelously strong yet supple rope, anchored it high in the cliff face, and tied it around them both. _You fall, I catch you,_ she said.

He was a more than capable climber, while she had struggled just making her way over the rocks. It had seemed best for him to climb ahead, stand where he could, and anchor the rope to help her follow; soon, he was more or less hoisting her up the cliff. But then she had slipped, plummeting downward as the rope sliced through his hands. He barely caught a loop in it, halting her fall; she swayed helplessly as he struggled to hold on, the rope slippery with his blood. And then, the demon had returned.

This was a forbidden place, and the demon seemed to hold a black power over him. He had told him to stay hidden while his brother-in-law cried out for help, and he and his young nephew were slain... he had warned him about trusting the brown woman, with her strange words and ways. And now he commanded the brother to let her fall, to punish her for venturing to this forbidden place, in this land where she didn’t belong; she must pay for the wrong she had done. All wrongs must be repaid…

But then he recalled Sonmi’s second warning. It had been spoken to him by the wise priestess of his village; he had sought her help when terrifying visions woke him days ago. Her voice echoed louder than the demon’s whispers now: _Hands a’bleeding, can’t let go._

He stared at his bloody hands, grasping the rope, and he knew that Sonmi was right. Outsider and trespasser though the brown woman might be, he couldn’t let her fall. He had talked to the woman, spent much time with her; he’d kept her from falling once already, when the bridge on which she stood began to crumble beneath her. He’d heeded Sonmi’s first warning... _Bridge a’broken, hide below..._ thrown himself and the brown woman out of sight just before a band of savages rode by, among them the ruthless chief who had slaughtered his kin. 

No, he couldn’t let her die now, no matter what the demon said. Not after saving her before; not when he was just beginning to like her. He concentrated and summoned his strength, grasped the rope firmly in his bleeding hands, and pulled her up to safety.

Hae-Joo’s own hands were a bloody, mangled mess; but miraculously, he hadn’t let go of the rope, and it had continued to hold. And now the agonizing downward pull had eased, and he was swinging horizontally. There was nothing to collide with; like the ship's mast, the scaffolding tower was well away, its metal ledge as visible as the wooden deck a few meters below. Like the dark man, Hae-Joo twisted his body as the rope reached its full tension, swinging himself back in the opposite direction, knowing he could land safely if he timed himself just right. And beyond the dark man the main topsail was descending as he swung about, to the watching crew’s surprised exclamations. He’d swiftly and impressively fulfilled the captain’s sarcastic order, just he had intended to do, and now the ship deck was approaching, the first mate and other crew members ducking frantically under his feet. One more swing about, and the smooth wood didn’t even scratch the dark man’s bare feet as he slid along the deck, braking with all his muscles, just as Hae-Joo did on the smooth metal ledge.

The first mate had struck the lawyer a vicious blow for ruining his shot at the dark man just before he jumped. Now the lawyer watched from the deck, terrified and winded, as captain and crew stared at the landed, waiting dark man. _The darky's salt as I am,_ commented the grizzled helmsman.

The captain called his first mate to attention, and the man jerked up, musket in hand.

But the captain only said that it seemed they had an addition to the crew, and to see that he earned his keep.

The dark sailor relaxed, the lawyer breathed a sigh of relief... and Hae-Joo, also safely landed, did the same.


	10. Rescue

Then, every fiber of Hae-Joo’s being burned with the need to get Sonmi back; the agony in his lacerated and broken hands was nothing in comparison. He forced himself past the pain and, aided by his feet and teeth, tore strips of fabric from his pants to bandage them, trying not to get blood all over himself and only partially succeeding. He found a maintenance lift for the scaffolding tower and descended; when he reached the ground, he made his way quickly, yet with practiced nonchalance, through the streets the few blocks to his flat. He was already developing a plan.

He probably looked like a savage, shirtless, streaked with blood and barefoot, with torn wrappings on his hands, wildly disheveled hair, and ripped pants that didn’t cover his hipbones… but Consumers did enjoy some bizarre fashions. And Hae-Joo knew well that there was a time to run at top speed, and a time to blend in; both methods could get one safely to one’s destination, but were differently appropriate depending on the situation. For all of his urgency, if he was to succeed, he had to limit attention to himself. Years in the rebellion had taught him that one could escape most notice by appearing not to have anything to hide—and indeed, only a handful of passerby gave him bewildered glances, with the vast majority paying him no attention at all.

He had lost his phaser in the fall, and he had no orison on him, nothing. But he had set things up at this flat for just such circumstances: DNA admittance for the building, elevator and flat, and a spare orison along with numerous weapons, clothes and supplies inside. As soon as he was in, he called headquarters, rapidly explained the situation and the plan he had developed, and listed exactly what he needed to have, as soon as possible. His orders were acknowledged, and he was told to stand by for confirmation. Then he was disconnected.

He knew full well he shouldn’t be giving orders without consulting Apis. But, as when Yoona-939 had died and he had resolved to get Sonmi out of the diner as soon as possible, Hae-Joo was _doing_ this, procedure be damned. However, back then, he had finalized all the preparations himself; this time he would need his comrades’ help in order to have any chance of success.

The situation was even more urgent it had been then. The Enforcers wouldn’t destroy her on the spot if they could help it; her behavior was so unprecedented that they would be forced to hold her for a time. By now, she had probably had the dubious honor of being the first fabricant to enter the Neo Seoul prison. Still, her time there would be brief—it was early morning now, and Hae-Joo doubted they would keep her overnight.

He also had no way of knowing how close the Enforcers were to catching up with him. They had traced the safe house, somehow pinpointed and destroyed Union’s surveillance team, but this flat was under a different, much older alias than the other had been; it would probably take them time to link the two. Surely the aero Enforcer had assumed him killed in the fall. Still, some surveillance vidi, somewhere, would have caught his uncanny landing on the scaffolding after the fall from the bridge, and another would have captured his discreet walk here. Whoever or whatever monitored that vidi probably wouldn’t make the connections for a little while, yet there was still a chance the Enforcers could arrive at his own door any minute.

Even more urgent than these practical concerns were emotional ones. Hae-Joo had grown closer to Sonmi in the past three days than he had thought it possible to be to anyone. Only swift action could begin to distract him from his anguish at the incredible danger and, doubtless, distress she was now in... all come about through his failure. The odds against him didn’t matter, then or now; his duty had been to keep her safe, and he had failed. He would vastly prefer to die in the attempt to save her than to fail again and live.

No procedure had been discussed among the leaders for the event of the fabricant’s recapture, and there was absolutely no time for discussion now. The plan he had just created and proposed was as good as any; it would be much more time-consuming to execute without Union’s support, and far more likely to fail. But based on their prior failure with Yoona-939, Hae-Joo was betting that Union's leaders would be willing to risk much to recover their last hope for a free-willed fabricant; even a First Science Officer. Especially since he, acting alone, would have the best chance at success.

He unwrapped the blood-soaked bandages from his broken hands, thankful to the core that he had invested in a really good all-healer. He would need his hands whole in the coming hours. In two minutes they were sterilized, set, and sealed with new skin. The pain was already beginning to lessen, and he could expect them to be fully back to normal function in about fifteen minutes.

He received a call back from headquarters. His orders had not been challenged; he was told that he would have what he needed at the rendezvous point in half an hour. He crammed a protein pack into his mouth, chewed and swallowed, then popped a double dose of stimulant. It was all he had left in his supplies, having brought the rest over to the other flat; he hoped it would be enough for the exertions ahead, and he would certainly pay a debt to his body later. In one continuous motion he walked to the bathroom, kicked off his ruined pajama pants and stepped through the all-cleaner-drier-styler, and walked out, free of blood and hair smoothly in place again. Then he threw on some clothes and grabbed his stash of hand credits. He’d need some to get to the prison, as well as in Old Seoul later. He couldn't bring an orison past the prison scanners, though, so he left it. Finally, he took a single phaser, which he hoped he wouldn’t need.

Less than ten minutes after entering, he started to leave the flat—stopped, went back for the flashlight he’d forgotten, and then left for good. As he exited, he activated the self-destruct system, which would quietly vaporize everything within. It was only a matter of time before the Enforcers would trace him, and the equipment and DNA here could only lead them to other Union members, sympathizers, and even headquarters if he didn’t take precautions. It didn’t matter to him to lose the place; it had never been his home, and nothing in it was irreplaceable.

The one thing he knew to be irreplaceable to him was a person, whom he had let go of and lost. But now, he was going to get her back.

 

He took public transport to the rendezvous point, transferring a few times to muddle his trail. At the rendezvous, he picked up the old cruiser and the bag of items he had requested, nodded to the courier, and drove off. He paused briefly in an alley to change into the subworker uniform, then took a quick but circuitous route to the high roof of an abandoned building a fair distance from the towering prison. There he parked, and waited for the call. His contact was a hacker monitoring the prison’s maintenance channels; he would call Hae-Joo when some sort of delivery or maintenance call went out. The prison was enormous, with daily comings and goings of all kinds of subworkers through its utility corridors, but Hae-Joo had no way of knowing whether the next call would come in seconds or hours.

He and his colleagues had theorized parts of this prison break strategy long before, yet the great risk it posed the single agent it involved had always overwhelmed the need to save any individual for their cause in the past. This time was different, for Hae-Joo as well as his comrades, but perhaps they had different reasons.

He tried not to think about that, and forced himself to wait as calmly as he could. If he allowed anguish and impatience to overwhelm him now, he’d only be weaker at the moment Sonmi needed him to act. And whatever she was feeling now must be a thousand times worse… he tried not to think about that, either.

The smoggy grey clouds seemed close enough to the roof for him to touch; yet there were many taller buildings throughout the city, and the looming prison dwarfed them all. He let his eyes wander along the tangle of drivetubes, level upon level, vehicles flashing along them all in a constant, congested stream… except for the bottommost utility tube. Only the occasional maintenance vehicle passed by on it, each truck appearing absolutely tiny from this height.

There was no need for him to waste his focus on such things right now, so he let his eyes drift back to the smoggy sky. As the wind buffeted him, he leaned back against the cruiser. The roar of Neo Seoul, of nearly a billion souls rushing and struggling through their lives, was constantly audible, just beyond the wind. He emptied his mind and sought the silence within, saving his energy for only the most essential awareness... but even as his mind and body grew quiet, a deep anxiety remained, eating at his soul.

After almost two hours, he received the call. A plumber had been ordered, and should be approaching the prison in approximately fifteen minutes.

Hae-Joo mounted the cruiser, swiftly retraced his route along the tubes, and pulled off at a lower roof with a clear view of the bottom tube; waited. Before long, he saw a lone truck in the distance, and instinctively felt it was his man. Sure enough, as the truck came closer, he could make out the name of a plumbing subcorporation along the side.

He drove the cruiser over to intercept it. The utility drivetube was authorized only for maintenance vehicles, and he was risking an Enforcer stop; he would have no choice in that scenario but to shoot his way out, flee, and develop a new plan. But if he was quick, and the subworker cooperated… he waved frantically at the driver of the plumbing truck and caught his attention, gesturing to both their uniforms. The driver slowed, and Hae-Joo pulled close to his window.

In subspeak, he apologized profusely for inconveniencing the man on his way to a job; nonetheless, he had great need of assistance. If the man could just spare a few minutes, and follow him... the driver grinned and nodded, won over by the urgent appeal of, apparently, a fellow sub in the trade. Hae-Joo got back on the cruiser and led him to the nearest roof.

For his trouble, the man received a deft jab to the chest, knocking him gently but thoroughly unconscious. He also lost his truck, his ID-nano, and even his uniform. As Hae-Joo had hoped, his nano was spoofed. Illegal migrants were rife in the subtrades; this one's nano simply matched that of the truck sufficiently to pass maintenance entrance scans, and would not hold up to a more thorough Enforcer scan. But it was sufficient for his purposes, easy to remove and re-insert in himself, and saved him the time of hacking the truck to rig his own. Hae-Joo left the man propped on the old cruiser, dressed in the uniform he'd traded with him, with credits adding up to at least double the cost of the truck, its equipment and a more sophisticated new nano in his pocket. He even left the phaser, safely disabled, tucked in the subworker's pocket--it was sure to fetch a good price on the black market. He gave the man a precautionary shot to wipe his memory of the last hour or so before driving off. It was a much diluted version of the drug Corporations gave fabricants after their conditioning phase; the man would retain a visceral knowledge of what had occurred, but be unable to recall any of the details. It was likely unnecessary, but better that the man be incapable of telling his story to Enforcers, whether he wanted to or not. Surely the plumber would consider it to have been a very good, if confusing morning once he came to, discovered his acquisitions and made his way back home... probably to a dark little shack in Old Seoul.

Hae-Joo drove the truck to the maintenance dock of the prison, located at its absolute bottom. On the way, he carefully disabled his sony; inside, they were scanned intrusively, but Hae-Joo's was specially modified with a crucial feature that Union's hackers had developed: an off switch.

The prison’s security system, already expecting the plumber’s truck with its nano and a driver that matched, scanned and admitted him with no problems. Hae-Joo parked in the bowels of the underground tunnels, carefully noted the points of vidi surveillance, and ducked into the back of the truck. Over the maintenance uniform, he quickly donned one of the very few, extremely precious intact Enforcer uniforms that Union had acquired over the years, complete with helmet and blaster.

Such a uniform was precious not only for disguise; the Enforcer belt would also enable him to cross the scanners between the maintenance corridors and the main part of the prison, while the blaster emitted a similar signal that allowed it to be carried where all other weapons set off alarms... all other recognizable weapons, that is. That did not include the sticky bombs in his bag, which he'd invented for Union himself.

Hae-Joo took a moment to get accustomed to the feel of the blaster, placing it on the magnetic belt and drawing it a few times; every millisecond would count later. It felt curiously heavy in his grip... for a moment he peered at it in his hand, and wondered: did it not resemble another of those archaic metal weapons, from some vision in the night...?

He blinked and saw only the blaster, a ruthless but necessary tool that he knew he would wield effectively at the proper time. He secured it to the uniform’s belt once more, then swiftly and silently slipped out of the truck and into the dim tunnels. He made his way unseen to the maintenance elevator, up to the ground level, through the utility corridors; past an Enforcer scanner, and finally into the prison's main tunnels, lined with cells.

The cells were indistinguishable from one another, at least from the outside. He had no way to see into them without opening the sealed view slits, which would definitely arouse attention. He only knew that wherever she was, she was being held alone, as solitary confinement was the rule in the Neo Seoul prison. Less severe offenders were allowed a few comforts: a toilet, perhaps a sleeping mat; orisons loaded with Unanimic propaganda. He doubted she would be shown such lenience.

Where would they keep her? She could be anywhere. There was nothing to do but make his way upward, keeping his eyes and ears open for some sign of her. He slowly ascended, observing the halls, using the empty stairways to attract less attention; occasionally, he posted himself in the hall, as if on guard, to rest. In this way, he gradually moved all the way up the prison's five hundred levels... and, eventually, turned back around and came down again.

He felt the hours, the limited time she had left, slipping by, but with brutal self-control made himself stay calm. There would be much discussion about her, the unprecedented runaway fabricant, on the Boards and elsewhere today. They would argue over what to do with her; many would want to study her. This bought her some time. Still, the most powerful forces on the Board would never allow her to live another day; they simply could not permit a fabricant on an inexorable course toward free will to continue breathing.

Yet Hae-Joo would not let himself become desperate; something, somehow, would lead him to her in time. He _had_ to believe it, for the alternative was too terrible even to consider.

There were occasional calls over a loudspeaker, summoning apparent reserve Enforcers to immediate tasks; frequently, these were escort duties. Hae-Joo saw several psycho-geneticists and eugenicists walk by, escorted by groups of three Enforcers each. He also saw a number of prisoners being escorted in and out of cells and down the corridors; again, rhey were all escorted by three Enforcers each. A few prisoners looked terrified, others lifeless; several were appallingly filthy. Hae-Joo deeply pitied them, but the cruel truth was that he could help only one prisoner today.

Then he noticed a swarthy young male prisoner walking by, escorted by four Enforcers. The young man was teetering unsteadily, as if he hadn’t walked for weeks, and he slumped against the wall for a moment. Hae-Joo caught a glimpse of his face: gaunt but fine features, eyes burning as if with fever... or, perhaps, defiance.

The Enforcers prodded him on. “Move along, deviant, it’ll be over for you soon enough,” jeered one of them. And Hae-Joo realized the young man was on his way to be euthanized.

So, the final walk merited one the honor of four Enforcers as escort; he swiftly surmised why. In all likelihood, the extra Enforcer delivered the body to the incinerator on the lower level himself, to ensure no secret messages traveled via corpse. Years ago, several of the condemned had managed to smuggle information to Union through the cooperation of a few sympathetic incinerator subworkers, until those workers inexplicably disappeared. The channel had since remained closed, and now he knew why.

His heart went out to the young man about to die. Yet he couldn’t save him as well as Sonmi, and he would not be leaving this place without her. He would either succeed, or be dead soon himself, along with her... inexplicably, the familiar and beautiful Cloud Atlas theme echoed in his mind as he watched the condemned youth stagger to the end of the corridor and disappear around the corner.

Morbidly, Hae-Joo wondered if the authorities would deign to sentence Sonmi to euthanasia, too. If they did, they would in a sense be acknowledging her as a human being; they might have to, if they wanted her killed in these facilities. There were no tools for xcisement here, with their exclusively fabricant associations; pure-bloods that crossed Unanimity met their end by smooth lethal injection, their bodies afforded the relative dignity of cremation. The snowflake-like ashes that occasionally floated along the prison’s heights bore testament to their passing.

No, Enforcers certainly never bothered bringing wayward fabricants to the prison; sometimes, such fabricants had their collars detonated by Seers on the spot, like Yoona-939. But that was viewed by the genomics industry as… wasteful, as well as unpleasant for any surrounding pure-bloods, and so avoided if possible. More often, those very rare fabricants who disobeyed were transported to the same ships that received their singing, joyful brethren with twelve stars on their collars. Indeed, the very idea of a fabricant going to prison was laughable according to Unanimic dogma... but in Sonmi’s unprecedented case, it was necessary.

Yet it would be no great task to send her to a processing ship. Or they could simply destroy her here, and call it xcisement anyway. The dogma of Unanimity made heavy use of terms denoting superiority and inferiority: as a fabricant deemed less than human, the ending of Sonmi’s life would thus be known as xcisement, rather than the murder it truly was. Really, Unanimity’s practice of killing the purebloods it deemed unworthy to live, otherwise known as euthanasia, was no better.

Perhaps they would send an Archivist to her. They often did for the more unusual criminals and deviants, in order to record their personal history and words for further study. As swiftly as they needed Sonmi destroyed, the various powers would also be fascinated with her; but of course, no Archivist had ever spoken to a fabricant before. Even that was probably too much to expect of them.

Hae-Joo directed his mind outward, away from such dark reflections. Most of the Enforcers he passed were all business, just as he was acting himself. Some had more relaxed postures and were chatting with one another; on their way to or from breaks, or perhaps just bored. A few were laughing about some stupid thing. They all sounded arrogant when they spoke, and as indistinguishable as the uniforms and tinted helmets made them look. The helmets were ridiculous, when you thought about it. Who would willingly choose to mask their individuality, to serve as a faceless tool of authority? Yet ever since Unanimity had risen to power, Enforcers had worn such helmets. And they’d never had any shortage in their ranks; it was a highly desirable profession among Consumers, as it came with many privileges. At least the facelessness and anonymity of being an Enforcer served Hae-Joo well now.

He wondered if Sonmi would have a personal visit from any of Unanimity’s Boardmen before they decided what to do with her. If one of those Corporate parasites showed up in the building, and he trailed them, they could very well lead him right to her.

He was finally in luck when a certain call over the loudspeaker pricked his ears. “ _Escort immediately, prestige dock 66 to Level 283, Cell 5.”_

Something called a prestige dock just had to be for Boardmen. Hae-Joo quickly took the lift to 283, positioned himself next to the elevator, and waited for the prestigious visitor and escort to arrive. After a few minutes the lift opened, and Boardman Mephi himself stepped out.

Hae-Joo remained rigidly at attention, but his blood froze. Mephi was the most powerful Boardman in Nea So Copros; he had served as one of six on the Unanimic World Board for ten years running. Hae-Joo had seen him many times, both on vidi and in person, though never from quite this close... that arrogant smirk and those cold, ruthless eyes never failed to chill his soul. But neither Mephi nor the escort looked twice at him, walking straight by toward a cell on the far end of the corridor. Hae-Joo’s heart began to pound; Sonmi had to be in there.

And at that moment, his deepest fear fell away: that he’d be too late, and she would die before he could find her. It had been so ghastly, he'd barely allowed himself to feel it… but she was alive. Now, it was all he could do not to tear over, shoot them all, and grab her then and there.

However, assassinating Boardman Mephi would exponentially complicate their escape, to say the least. It was already quite risky enough. No, he would wait until the Enforcers returned without the Boardman, as they would eventually; Mephi would get his due in another time and place.

Mephi had begun to speak, and Hae-Joo strained to hear what he was saying. With his sony off, he could not magnify Mephi’s words to his aural nerve, much as he wished to. Still, he caught a few of them.

“—what should be done with you.” That low, contemptuous drawl always made his skin crawl. “Corpocrats… psychogenomicists… vivisection…” Hae-Joo shuddered inside; That was a fate even worse than xcisement. Then Mephi stepped further into the cell, and he couldn’t make out any more words for the next minute, just a low and menacing murmur.

Glad as he was that she was alive, it tormented him to know that was hearing such things; that she had been shut in that cold, grey cell for hours, all alone, with neither color nor sound to distract her, thinking herself already condemned... he wondered if they’d even let her keep her clothes. The wearing of pure-blood clothes alone was an xcisable offense; surely they had taken away her pink-flowered robe, which she had liked so much. The thought of it made his heart ache.

He heard Mephi moving toward the cell door, and made out his voice again. “Inform the Archivist. Prepare for xcisement.”

An Enforcer acknowledged the order. So Mephi himself had made the decision: they wouldn’t call it euthanasia, but they wanted an Archivist to record her thoughts and feelings. This was, paradoxically, a small victory, as well as a relief; when the escort returned, Hae-Joo would finally have his chance to act.

Then, to his great surprise, Hae-Joo heard Sonmi’s voice. “Sir,” she called, forcing Mephi to halt mid-exit. Hae-Joo couldn’t quite distinguish what she said next, but it was definitely a question… clear, polite, and unafraid.

His heart swelled at her nerve. She’d barely asked _him_ any questions, yet there she was, querying one of the most powerful men in Unanimity as if it were the most normal thing in the world for her. He was so busy marveling hat he didn’t catch Mephi’s curt response, either, even with Mephi so near the door. But it didn’t matter. Not only was she alive and close by, but she was also braver than he’d ever hoped she’d be… and she’d be with him again soon.

Hae-Joo watched Mephi make his way back to the elevator; he looked rather disgruntled. _I bet you are, faced with a fabricant strong enough to question you... and thanks for showing me where to find her, Mephi._ He couldn’t keep a slight smirk from his face, which, fortunately, was concealed by his helmet, as Mephi and the escort walked past him to the elevator and descended.

Nothing stirred on the level for the next two hours. Hae-Joo kept himself at attention, not knowing exactly when the escort would come. There probably would not be a call for them this time, and he had to be ready at any moment. He gathered his focus while he waited, envisioning all the possible scenarios that could unfold in the fight soon to follow, and how he could turn each one to his advantage.

Finally, the elevator opened once again. Three Enforcers walked out, the number he had expected. _Good._ It would allow him to delay his assault until the most opportune moment. He waited to ensure that the lead was passing all the other cells and headed for Sonmi’s; then, he silently crossed the hall and fell in line after them. They halted in front of the cell, noticed him, and looked at him curiously—if one could look curious in a helmet that didn’t show one’s face. But he had already come up with an explanation for them during the past two hours.

“Mephi said I should join you when you came. He said if she wants to act like a pure-blood deviant, she can have four of us, just like them.”

These might actually be the same Enforcers who had brought Mephi up, but it worked as a joke either way. They all shared a good guffaw, himself included, while his stomach turned in disgust. But he knew that very soon they, and not she, would meet their end, through him.

The lead opened the cell and stopped just outside the door, while the next one stopped across from him. Then the one with the cuffs went in; Hae-Joo followed, and stood just inside the door. Then he was looking down at Sonmi, seated against the wall, her legs clasped before her.

She was clad only in the short white night dress she’d had on under her robe when he last saw her; it was too much like the old fabricant sleep shift for his comfort. Her face was pale and lifeless, staring straight ahead, not even acknowledging the Enforcers. However brave she’d been with Mephi, she didn’t look good now… and yet, she rose steadily to her feet.

He burned to blast the escort and reveal himself right then and there, if only to bring life back into her face, but he knew he must wait just a little longer. His position wasn’t ideal with the two Enforcers behind him; as they filed away down the corridor, those two would have their backs to him. Then he would strike.

The one on his left grabbed Sonmi’s wrists and roughly cuffed them as she stood, quiet and still. “Move it!” the Enforcer said, giving her a hard shove toward the door of the cell. She winced and stumbled, as Hae-Joo controlled his rage. _You’ll be first._

She regained her footing and walked slowly forward; they reversed direction and filed out around her. The cell door slammed shut behind them. Hae-Joo got his hand on his blaster… his finger on the trigger. _Now._

He raised his arm and blasted the Enforcer to his right, who had pushed her, and never knew what hit him. The Enforcer in front of him turned, grabbing for his weapon. Hae-Joo blasted him before he could raise it. Sonmi turned this way and that, scared and bewildered, having barely glimpsed the blasts, the two Enforcers falling; she faced him, but of course she could not recognize him. Hae-Joo and the remaining Enforcer faced off, blasters pointed at each other, her head in between.

He’d anticipated this, while the Enforcer hadn’t. He reached for Sonmi’s head, and she began to drop instinctively even before he touched her. He ducked and spun, pushing her behind him as the Enforcer shot at the space where her head had been; they began to grapple fiercely. But this one was no slouch, and shot after shot burst near their bodies as they barely kept each other’s blasters away.

The Enforcer managed to pin his arms. Hae-Joo head-butted him, but the hard helmets only smacked off each other. _So much for that._ The Enforcer twisted him toward the wall, his hand choking Hae-Joo’s throat, kicking the back of his leg and forcing him to one knee… slowly pushed his blaster toward his head…

But Hae-Joo had considered how he might use the wall. He strained, unable to breathe, yet forced the blaster away from his head, his own downward, into position… _there._ He fired at the wall. The rebound of the blast threw the Enforcer backward as Hae-Joo whipped around and shot him, and it was over.

He turned to Sonmi. She was panting, wide-eyed with fear and confusion. She couldn’t know who had won, who he was, or what was going on. He quickly took the magnetic wand from his uniform, and she flinched as he pointed it at her. With a click he released her cuffs, and they fell to the floor with a clatter. Relief filled her eyes. Then, he took off the helmet.

Though the hours since their separation had been anguish for them both, all of it felt washed away in the radiance of her shocked, ecstatic gaze. With a cry, she rushed over and threw her arms around him. “I won’t let you go again,” he whispered as he crushed her to him, her joyful sobs in his ear.

He had to end their embrace much too soon, shove the helmet back on and rush her to the next utility lift. Still, he relished having his arm around her, the way she clung to him... they descended to the maintenance parking, and he got them into the plumber’s truck unseen. He swiftly peeled off the Enforcer uniform and hid it in the back of the truck, then put the blaster in the bag next to him. Finally, he tucked Sonmi into a corner; unable to help himself, he cupped her face in his hand, sharing her sweet gaze for another instant.

He hated to release her, and saw her grow fearful as soon as he did. Or was she simply reflecting his own returning anxiety? For he knew that they weren’t safe yet; not by far.

He flew them up through the bowels of the parking levels to the exit of the maintenance dock, and held his breath as the truck was scanned. And as he had suspected, the prison security system did not scan for life forms, only ID-nanos... which fabricants did not have. The massive, jaw-like gates opened, and his heart pounded as he slowly drove out of the prison, gradually increased his speed outside… but in less than half a minute, he heard Enforcer sirens.

“ _Shit._ ” Hae-Joo rarely cursed aloud, but this was one of those moments.

So the escape had been discovered. But the search must still be focused within the prison, and they hadn’t yet made the connection to the plumbing truck; the Enforcers weren’t opening fire, just ordering him to prepare for boarding. There was that, at least.

“What are you going to do?” Sonmi whispered, sounding desperately interested in the answer.

“Stay calm, stay calm,” he muttered, as much to himself as to Sonmi as he slowed down to land on the nearest building.

He smiled and nodded at the Enforcers through the window, hand to his temple as if he were using a subtranslator, and tried to look as stupid as possible. He'd hoped to hell they could avoid such a stop, but for this, too, he had planned. He must maintain cover, make them think that he was just another poor, cowed sub, or they'd blast the truck out of the sky; his only chance was to keep them off guard until he could somehow get the jump on them. There were four on cruisers, two aeros… _shit._ He had the blaster and sticky bombs in his bag, but there was no way to grab them, let alone use them yet… he would have only his body and his wits to begin with. The next few minutes would test him to his limit.

As he landed, one of the two aeros veered away back to the prison, apparently deeming a single aero and four cruiser Enforcers more than enough to handle some idiot in a plumbing truck. It was a start _._

He began jabbering subspeak from a distant province as soon as he stepped out of the driver’s door, babbling over their Consumer as though he didn’t understand. He let his upraised hands shake as if with nervousness—it wasn’t much of a stretch. But in truth, a highly-charged adrenaline was gathering within him, and his hands only shook because he wanted them to.

The Enforcers were irritated. They shoved him roughly against the side of the truck for a scan as he apparently staggered and flailed in fear, still babbling noisily. One of them took a moment to disdain his “migrant monkey-talk.” He could tell he had already been dismissed as a threat in their minds. _Good._ He had made sure that they positioned him where their scan would likely pick up Sonmi as well... counter-intuitive, yet it could prove crucial. He’d had his Unanimic ID-nano removed long ago, a significant offense; but thanks to his performance, and the cheaply spoofed replacement, they had him pegged him as an illegal migrant worker, rather than a dissident.

One of them jammed Hae-Joo’s hands together for cuffs, and he protested theatrically as he prepared for a swift drop and upward strike to grab the blaster at his neck. His position was less than ideal, with a second blaster pointed at him and two other Enforcers at his back, but he was not going to let them cuff him, whatever else happened… and then, his deliberate staggering paid off. The scan picked up a second life form in the truck, and two of the four Enforcers moved off to look inside, leaving his hands free.

He let his hands drift slowly back up to either side of him, and glanced back to note the exact positions of the remaining Enforcers; this would save him fractions of a second. They didn’t even care that he was moving, frightened, weak sub that he was. Their attention would be briefly diverted when they found her. _Keep up the act_ —he let his babbling get hysterical. Surely she could hear him. She must be terrified. They would find her in a second, but they were _not_ taking her again.

“It’s her!” an Enforcer exclaimed from the truck. The two behind Hae-Joo twitched in surprise.

“It’ll be okay, huh?” he yelled to Sonmi, his suddenly perfect Consumer distracting the Enforcers further. It was time.

With the speed nature had gifted him, and countless hours of training had sharpened to a blinding force, Hae-Joo turned around and snatched the blaster out of the near Enforcer’s hands while bending out of the aim of the far one. He shot the far one at the same instant his target fired; the far one was still aimed where Hae-Joo had been a fraction of a second ago, and hit the near one instead. Two down, and he now held a blaster.

A muffled “ _What?!”_ inside the truck, and rapid footsteps behind it, indicated the positions of the other two Enforcers. Hae-Joo dodged the shot of the running Enforcer and took the swiftest solution: vaulting onto his shoulders, he forced his opponent's blaster into the Enforcer's own body at the precise, predictable moment it fired again. He flipped forward as the Enforcer’s body flew backward, rolled to his feet and dashed to the front door of the truck; a shot from the last Enforcer, who'd just left the truck, flashed past him. He could hear the hum of the aero approaching, and knew he had seconds to bring it down, if that.

He grabbed his bag of bombs from the driver’s seat and kicked the opposite door open, glancing back at Sonmi—still safe—then climbed and rolled to the roof of the truck. Dropping the blaster, he grabbed a bomb, swung it over his head, and launched it at the aero’s windshield. He glimpsed Sonmi jumping out the door as a shot from the last Enforcer flashed through the truck. The bomb stuck to the windshield, and the panicked pilot tried to veer the aero away, its fate already sealed.

The blaster had fallen off the top of the truck. _Shit_. The last Enforcer was aiming for Sonmi; there was no time to open his bag, so he snatched it as he twisted himself off the truck to land in front of her. He saw the cruiser between him and the Enforcer as he landed, and knew what to do. As the distracted Enforcer missed his shot, Hae-Joo twisted across the cruiser, jamming the ignition to maximum. It roared off the roof, ramming the Enforcer with it, just as the aero exploded in flames.

Catching his breath, Hae-Joo turned back to Sonmi to make sure she was all right.

Her stunned face glowed in the inferno. “Who are you?”

Well she might ask, now that she had seen what he was capable of. It was time to tell her the truth.

“Commander Hae-Joo Chang,” he said with a slight bow, then a moment’s hesitation—“First Science Officer of the Union rebellion.”

She’d read about Union; perhaps she had suspected he was involved, but she had never asked him about it. Now, however, her questions wouldn’t stop. “Why are you doing this?”

Again she wore that serious, perplexed look, as if trying to solve some riddle of physics in her head; it seemed like ages since he'd seen it, and it filled him with affection. But this was not a moment when he could go into depth, nor was he sure if he could answer her question fully, even to himself. Yet he had to say something.

“Because I believe you have the power to change this world," he said, gazing at her.

It was a true, if not complete answer, and they really didn’t have time for anything more. He pulled her toward another vacant cruiser, helped her mount, and jumped on in front of her, putting the blaster from his bag within easy reach. “Lean forward, into me," he instructed. She did, and he wrapped her arms around his torso. "Hold on as tightly as you can.” As they dove off the roof, he could hear more Enforcers on their way.

After some incredibly reckless driving, streaking between oncoming lanes of traffic at top speed, dodging phasers, dropping from one drivetube to the next to try to shake their pursuers, they had another close call; an aero rose meters before them, cutting them off. There was nothing for Hae-Joo to do but grab the blaster and fly straight toward it, off the drivetube, shooting like mad at the aero's windshield; insane, yet effective, as it splintered in huge cracks, blocking the Enforcer’s visuals as they plummeted away.

He managed to put some distance between them and their pursuers with the subsequent long, nerve-wracking fall through one crowded traffic drivetube after another, Sonmi’s arms crushing his chest, his own muscles straining to hold them on the cruiser… with a jolt, they landed on the empty maintenance drivetube far below, and tore toward Neo Seoul’s outskirts. But soon four aeros homed in on them, no longer bothering with phasers and now firing missiles at their tiny, weaving target. Massive explosions burst out left and right, an apartment building, a bridge; horrible awareness of the innocents being blasted away with such excessive force flashed through Hae-Joo’s mind. But he had to save Sonmi, and get them to the damway.

They flew in just as missiles exploded around the entrance. He continued at full speed for a few seconds, then brought the cruiser to a swift stop. He knew Sonmi was wondering what on earth he was up to when he dismounted. Her hands clutched frantically at him as he scanned the tunnel’s entrance.

“Come on,” he murmured, helping her off. He heard the cruisers entering the tunnel, quickly opened his bag and grabbed a bomb. It was in his hands, and now he could see the approaching lights.

“What are you doing?” Sonmi asked him, practically hopping up and down with anxiety.

Hae-Joo looked at her. It was an excellent question, but this was no time for an answer. He had outlined the procedure about to follow for his comrades, in the event they were ever chased into the tunnel en route to Old Seoul and had his sticky bombs. However, it had never yet been tested… and it could well end up being a one-time procedure.

Nothing to do but try. He looked forward, swung the bomb, and threw it down the tunnel as hard as he could.

He faintly saw it hurtling past the cruisers, then lost it. But the static field that made it sticky should cause it to rebound off the drivetube at the bottom of the tunnel and plant itself on the nearest surface: the ceiling or walls. Where exactly mattered far less than the distance he’d manage to throw it, as they needed all they could get.

He swiftly pulled open the nearest sewer cover. _One, two…_ there it went.

“Come on, come on, quick!” He urged her down the ladder as a column of water roared toward them, engulfing their pursuers. She gasped and hurried down, no longer needing an explanation. He grabbed his bag, climbed in after her, and slammed the cover shut just before the waters rushed over it.


	11. Safety

He had saved them from fire and flood. But now they were, quite literally, in shit.

As he descended the last wrung of the ladder to splash down next to Sonmi, he could hear her retching in the darkness. He found her and put his arms around her, steadying her until the dry heaves passed. Finding his flashlight, he turned it on and tried to reassure her.

“It’ll be all right, Sonmi. I know the way through here to Old Seoul. We can hide there, it’s—it's my home. I’ll be with you the whole way.” She looked back at him, shaking with nausea, but nodded bravely. He put his arm around her again, and off they sloshed, side by side.

Despite the circumstances, it was an immense relief not to have to worry about immediate pursuit. With the tunnel flooded, the next available sewer access gave them a good head start on the Enforcers; but that was only if they knew their way readily through the passages, and chose to brave the foulness at all, both of which Hae-Joo highly doubted. They would likely be swarming through the old city when they got out, but he knew how to melt into the crowds in the slums. So for now they were alone, and safe. Sonmi seemed to sense this too as she clung to his arm, moving quickly and without complaint.

When they finally emerged in Old Seoul, passer-by stared, giving them a wide berth. But in all honesty, they were not nearly as shocking in their current state here in the old city as they might be elsewhere.

First, they needed new clothes; not only was what they had on beyond the ability of an all-cleaner to salvage, it made them too recognizable. Within a couple minutes, they were at a clothing stall in the street market. The subvendor watched the filthy credits drop onto his little table with barely a blink. He silently went about fetching the items Hae-Joo requested, even helpfully folding each set of clothes into an old bag.

Hae-Joo dropped him a bunch more credits. “Thank you for your assistance, and for forgetting you ever saw us.” The vendor nodded, his eyes lingering curiously on Sonmi as they left.

At last, they were headed to the nearest washhouse. _Thank Humanity._ How good it would feel to wash up and put on new clothes… he even found himself looking forward to seeing Sonmi in that pretty purple tunic he'd seen her gazing at, which he had made sure the vendor picked…

 _Oh, Chang. Is that all you can think of right now?_ But he couldn’t really chide himself. They were both wretchedly filthy and exhausted from recent ordeals; yet they were also relatively safe, and would soon be clean, and she was with him again, and damned if he would deny either her or himself pleasure in a bit of beauty now.

He found them cabins side by side and gave Sonmi her bag of clothes. “I’ll be next door, or waiting just outside. Take your time.” She nodded, looking as desperately eager as he was.

After closing her door, he went into his cabin and lost no time in stripping. He dumped the maintenance uniform straight into the disposal bin; emptied his bag, and threw it in after. The old, beat-up all-cleaner gave him doubts, but in the end it proved able to remove every last trace of filth from his person after three cycles on the highest setting. He did four just to be safe. There was also hot water for further, psychological cleansing, so he gave in and relished a quick shower, even though it wasn’t strictly necessary. After a jolt under the all-drier, he dressed, putting his carefully cleaned blaster, flashlight, and two remaining bombs into the jacket pockets, hoping very much that he wouldn’t need them for at least the rest of the evening.

As he came out, he glimpsed Sonmi’s face through the blurred window of her cabin. Her eyes were closed, her face turned upward with a blissful expression as the water streamed over her—he swiftly walked off a few meters, feeling warm all over.

But his tired brain had far more grave things to occupy itself. It was time for him to make contact with Union. He had to coordinate a safe house and, far more importantly, introduce Sonmi to General Apis; the realization that the time was at hand for Sonmi to learn of their plan was like an immense stone in his stomach.

He hadn’t allowed himself to think of it before now, and his protectiveness toward her, by now nearly instinctive, rose. Could she even handle such shocking knowledge, let alone make the choice they hoped she would?

But she had learned and changed so much; she was no longer the trembling diner server he had first rescued, so subservient that any choice at all risked triggering severe trauma. And what was more, they were running out of time.

For a moment he considered it all as a calculating, detached Union commander. Sonmi was now not only the first ascending fabricant, and the first fabricant to have escaped her place of work: whether they called her one or not, she was now also the first human being to escape the Neo Seoul prison. The Enforcers would never stop looking for her, and their efforts to find her would only increase. It would be easy enough for them to hide in the old city for a few days, but as the Enforcer patrols continued to come up empty, the authorities were sure to employ sophisticated DNA sniffers... and then even more drastic methods. They would raze the slums, if it came to it. Sonmi needed to learn the complete story now, while she still had a choice to make, before they found her again, precluding further choice for her forever.

But it was impossible for him to think of Sonmi in a detached way; it had never been possible, really. And suddenly, the truth almost undid him: that their triumphant, daring, and exhausting escape, and his relief at having her next to him again, were inseparably linked to ever-increasing danger for her, and to Union’s heavy purpose for her. It seemed too harsh to be borne.

Yet this was their path, and he had to push onward with her. Whatever the future held, there was no turning back now.

Soon Sonmi emerged, looking reborn; in the simple, one-shoulder purple silk tunic with embroidered border, she was the loveliest he had seen her yet. For a moment he forgot everything else and simply stared at her. She lowered her eyes shyly at first; then, when he couldn't tear his away, she slowly raised them to meet his again, smiling hesitantly... a smile so beautiful, he could only share it.

But practical concerns soon returned. They would have to be careful on the streets, even beyond their fugitive status. She just might be overlooked as a fabricant at first glance from the average pure-blood now, but there were plenty of stolen and repurposed models in the old city, and sharp-eyed black market dealers would be neither fooled by her appearance nor hesitant to grab her if they saw an opportunity. Frankly, pure-blood females needed to be almost as cautious around here. The predators usually targeted the prettiest, as well as the innocent; she was both.

He had bought a dark shawl for her to wear over the tunic, and he carefully put it around her. But it slipped stylishly, showing off her slim, delicate shoulder… and he found himself, guiltily, liking it all the more for it. Well, a shawl wouldn’t keep her safe; only his constant physical contact and vigilance could. It was time for them to be on their way.

“Sonmi, my leader would very much like to talk to you,” he said quietly. "If you are willing."

Even now that he himself had surrendered to the inevitability of what was ahead, he could not just force her to go along. But she had no reason to be unwilling; she still did not know the gravity of her situation. If she did, she might well run away and hide right now. And yet the whole point behind him taking her to Apis was for her to finally know… only then could she want to hide...

Fatigue was catching up with him, and his mind was going around in circles, building paradoxes and contradicting itself. Sonmi looked anxious, but as she gazed at him, she seemed more focused on his conflicted state than what he had actually said.

“I don’t understand why he would want to talk to me,” she said, frowning. “Or what you told me earlier. How can _I_ change the world, Hae-Joo?”

In retrospect, seeing how they had barely managed to get away from the Enforcers, he himself didn’t understand why he had made such a confession at that moment… although he hadn’t told her _everything_ he felt about her. “It would be best if he explained that to you at our headquarters," he murmured. "I can’t tell you here; it’s not safe, nor is it my place.”

He could no longer bear her gaze, so perplexed and worried, and he lowered his eyes. They fell on her delicate hands, which were clasped tightly together... it made him think of her kino, long gone now. He gently took her hands in his; but whether it was for her sake or his own, he couldn’t have said.

For a few seconds he just gazed at those slender hands, stroking them lightly; felt her slim fingers tentatively grip his back. He heard her soft voice again. “I will go see him, if you think it would be best."

He looked at her again. He could see her wondering what it was he wouldn’t tell her; what, he now realized, he was afraid for her to learn. And he knew that she could see that he was afraid. Still, she trusted him, in spite of it all.

“After you see him, we’ll go someplace safe and rest,” he promised them both.

He made the quick call to headquarters that they had gotten through and were on their way. Then he took her arm, and, kicking his weary brain back to hyper-awareness for Enforcers, unsavory types and anything else, led her through the old city.

He could feel her astonishment as she took in, or perhaps more accurately, was assaulted by a host of new sensations. A cacophony of sound: rapid, rough subspeak, blaring audi-ads, hawkers, pop-beats, street musicians… a scent bouquet of cooking odors, pleasure-fumes, waste, and the bodies of subs who couldn’t afford all-cleaners, many not even running water… a visual kaleidoscope of merchandise stalls, bizarre delicacies, flashing signs, filth mingled with gaudiness, building structures improvised, in decay or on the verge of collapse… and a never-ending crush of passers-by: curious, miserable, aggressive, oblivious, and everything in between. Imagining how it must all seem in her perception reminded him of his own first time in the slums.

He spotted an approaching Enforcer patrol and swiftly moved his body between them and Sonmi, adopting a casual pose of contemplating some slabs of lizard meat for sale as he gripped her arm tightly, tensed for more drastic action. A second later she, too, caught sight of the patrol, and he felt her stiffen with terror. But she kept outwardly calm, standing quietly next to him as the Enforcers drew close…

Thankfully, they strode by obliviously, taking them for just another pair of subs shopping the market. Hae-Joo scanned the crowd to be sure there were no more for the moment, then drew her along, willing his heartbeat to slow. “Come on,” he said, tension bringing an edge to his voice.

As she continued to peer around, he cautioned her. “Stay close. Fabricants get snatched here.”

Her large eyes regarded him anxiously. He wondered if she’d touched on the black market in fabricants during her study, on the street sex trade and other schemes… then he wondered what she knew of prostitution at all. Or sex, for that matter. She had probably learned at the beginning of her former life that some of her more distant sisters had the Unanimity-sanctioned “sacred duty” of serving Consumers with their bodies; she’d witnessed Yoona-939 and Seer Rhee together, though she and her sister had never spoken of the taboo activity. In the flat, Hae-Joo had glimpsed her peering intently at digis of the human male and female reproductive systems, before looking somewhere else. He knew she had covered a great many more topics than just those he had seen; somehow, she didn’t seem confused by his warning.

She caught sight of a food stall with fried rats hanging from their tails. “This is where you live?” she asked him, bewildered.

He could see how calling all this his home might have her baffled now. The words had rushed out of him without thought, intended to reassure her. He didn’t really _live_ anywhere; his last flat was now an empty hole, and he had always been on the move, planning, fighting, hiding… but he he had done all this for Union, which had been the home of his soul for many years. And Union was inextricably linked to Old Seoul.

Lately, however, he’d been doing all of his planning, fighting and hiding for Sonmi. While that had begun on behalf of Union, he felt within him that Union’s goals were no longer the main reason. Were they even part of the reason at all, anymore? _Of course they are. Part of it._

He tried to focus on her question. In his exhausted state, maneuvering them through the chaos while keeping his eyes peeled for signs of trouble was more than enough for him to deal with, but even now, her thirst for knowledge was precious to him. He thought again of the wide-eyed teen he had been himself in his early explorations of these streets… seeing raw life for the first time, wondering about the elusive rebels; searching for a purpose.

“This,” he said, steering her past a pile of garbage, “is where Union was born.”

Something else caught her eye, and she came to an abrupt halt. He followed her gaze to a red-lantern-box above them, and saw a prostitute that had once been a Sonmi model. She sat limply in a skimpy white dress, made up like a doll; a crude, bright sticker in the shape of a flower was on her neck, probably to hide the result of a careless collar removal. At the sight of her more fortunate sister below, the doll slowly straightened, her painted eyes dead, yet still compelled, somehow, to look closer…

His Sonmi was trembling. He tried to move her along, but she walked haltingly, clasping the shawl about herself, her hands shaking so hard she fumbled. He put his arm around her to steady her, but she seemed to flinch away from his touch, clutching her shawl more tightly around her; he felt a pang deep inside. He gazed at her with concern, but she avoided his eyes, her expression drawn inward.

It was as if she were bothered not only by what she’d seen, but by some disturbing memory... suddenly, he recalled a bit of Union surveillance vidi from Papa Song’s, a brief glimpse of a placid server going about her work as her behind and a bit more got groped by a laughing Consumer, and understood. Perhaps only the sight of her wretched sister had made Sonmi fully understand it herself. _Damn Unanimity._

Hae-Joo led her slowly by her arm for a while, hating her shaking, what she was remembering and imagining with such distress, and his powerlessness to stop it all. He briefly wished he could add certain other Consumers to the Enforcers he’d destroyed today; preferably, he’d ram them all off the roof with that cruiser. He could just see one of those smug, arrogant men now… forget the cruiser, he’d throw him off the roof with his bare hands, screaming helplessly, plummeting to a gory explosion on the pavement below…

But murderous visions of revenge were of no use in their situation. He struck them from his mind and focused on Sonmi, wishing he could help her somehow.

They were passing another clothing stall; his eyes fell on a long black cloak. On an impulse, he stopped and bought it. It was something to do; maybe it would help her feel safer. It could at least show her that he cared.

As he wrapped it lightly around her, her eyes tried to meet his again, and her lips twitched tremulously. He put a hesitant hand on her shoulder, not sure what to say, or even if he should touch her right then… but then, she closed her eyes and nestled into his chest. He hugged her to him gently, relieved beyond words.

Gradually, he felt her shaking lessen, and finally cease. As they moved on, she walked normally, just pressed a bit closer to him than she had before.


	12. Plans

They left the crowded, chaotic streets for nearly empty, darkly twisting alleys. He guided her through a hidden door in an abandoned building, down into the cellar, and along a lengthy series of interconnecting underground passageways, until they finally arrived at Union’s headquarters.

As usual, it was teeming with members and equipment, dead serious in atmosphere. A guard met them and escorted them through the complex, down to the General Apis’s room. Apis’s personal guard motioned them to wait on the stairs, indicating that the General was currently meeting with someone else; a moment later, Mitchell walked out of the room.

Hae-Joo was shocked to see Mitchell back in Nea So Copros. But then, it made sense for him to return now to consult with Apis and the Nea So Copros collective, just before a possible turning point in the rebellion, the genesis of which he himself had conceived. Hae-Joo just wished he had known, somehow... but he’d been preoccupied lately, to say the least.

Mitchell paused, took in his old friend with Sonmi hovering timidly behind him, and gave him a look. It was short, but significant.

In his eyes was recognition of what Hae-Joo had been through, as well as what was yet ahead of him. Apis must have briefed him just now, though they couldn’t possibly know all the details; yet as always, what Mitchell didn’t know, he seemed to guess. In the look was grim understanding of both the difficulty and the necessity of what was at hand. And although it was likely only Hae-Joo would have been able to see it, there was deep sympathy as well... or was it sorrow?

There was no time for words. Mitchell moved on to whatever duties awaited him, and Hae-Joo and Sonmi went in to see General Apis. And in his eloquent, charismatic, yet ruthless way, the General finally revealed to Sonmi her purpose in Union’s ultimate plan.

 

General Apis requested that Sonmi speak out on behalf of Union to humanity; this act, he calmly explained, would earn her a swift and certain death sentence from Unanimity.

Union, in the representative of Hae-Joo, had freed Sonmi and helped her learn how to live freely, only to ask her now to give up her life.

When the request was finally made, Sonmi stood blinking and bewildered, looking from him to the General and back to him again. And Hae-Joo felt profound unhappiness in his soul; yet he did not feel guilt.

It was almost the same plight all of them were in already: conform and live under oppressive control, or resist and be prepared to die for it. Sonmi had known this even when she took her first shaky steps out of the diner; in a sense, she had already joined the resistance then... but she could not have known that as a fabricant, her ongoing ascendance challenged Unanimity on a more profound level than the acts of even the most defiant pure-blood. Her very existence contradicted Unanimity’s core values, and her double escape had only made her an even greater target for elimination. Hae-Joo still could not help feeling distress at the danger he had put Sonmi in by helping her, even though he knew her life would certainly be over by now if he had not. He also knew that Sonmi had begun to act freely and do things that earned her xcisement even before she met him, during her interactions with Yoona-939 at the very beginning of her ascendance. But knowing didn't make this any easier.

Fabricant ascendance, as attractive as it was to Union, posed a deep ethical dilemma. Union held the ideal that all fabricants were human beings, and _could_ develop free will, or “ascend”—a term coined by Mitchell himself. However, from the beginning of their existence, fabricants were subject to rigid genetic and environmental programming designed specifically to subdue their free will, and in all the years since Unanimity had begun to develop and utilize fabricants, this programming had been almost universally successful. What was more, Mitchell had obtained highly disturbing data from classified Unanimic experiments on fabricants, and it revealed that _forcing_ fabricants to act against their programming utterly failed. It resulted in severe trauma at best. At worst, the experimental subjects displayed outbursts of uncontrollable panic and violence that endangered even the Unanimic scientists, as well as attempts at what could only be called self-xcisement.

Based on this evidence and his additional thought experiments, Mitchell concluded that in order for Union to ethically recruit a fabricant, it would have to find one who by some fluke of genetics, environment, or both had already begun the journey of ascension themselves; a fabricant whose tendency to free will was self-initiated and revealed itself in observable ways which the fabricant did not suppress. Since even a minor demonstration of free will automatically sentenced a fabricant to xcisement if discovered, removing a self-ascending fabricant from their place of service would truly be a rescue. Only for such a fabricant could the risk of escape, the loss of their short, joyless, yet secure former existence, and the inevitable suffering of the journey to self-awareness be justified... and only for such a fabricant did Union's efforts have the slimmest chance of succeeding.

As Union had long suspected, and additional Corporate data obtained by Mitchell confirmed, “manufacturing defects” occurred in fabricants more often than Consumers were generally aware. The collars, though ostensibly theft deterrents, were also strong indicators of the need for the authorities to quickly contain at least some fabricant-initiated incidents. The Corporate reports did refer to a number of incidents in which some fluke of genomics or programming caused a fabricant to exhibit so-calling defective behavior, such as freezing at their work, or screaming repeatedly, or wandering blankly into Consumer areas. In a few instances, fabricants even threw themselves convulsively at the doors or walls of their place of service in apparent seizures. In such cases, swift collar detonation by a Seer was often warranted, rather than removal by Enforcers for xcisement.

Mitchell was certain that such incidents were caused by free will urges bursting uncontrollably free of the fabricants' own repression. Yet they were of no use to either Union or the fabricants themselves when those few that had them were unable to act constructively, and Unanimity destroyed them so quickly. To this day, there was only one fabricant to have ever consciously attempted escape on her own, and it wasn’t Sonmi.

The greatest wickedness of their conditioning was that except in those cases of models literally breaking down, the vast majority of fabricants appeared to self-correct, reflexively subduing any urge to break the guidelines they knew as catechisms before it could be observed. This was consistent with the incredibly low number of xcisements and collar detonations reported for deliberate anti-catechismic behavior by fabricants, such as handling Consumer property without explicit orders, or consciously refusing to follow a Consumer command. Such reports were universally brief, vague, and dated from the earlier decades of genomics, and no more recent evidence could be found. It was possible that it had been suppressed, buried too deep for even Mitchell's far-reaching access to obtain. Mitchell, and Union, could only hope that some minor free will acts by fabricants might yet go unobserved and unpunished, providing the seeds for true ascendance in the future.

Agents around the world were commissioned to conduct months of observation at various fabricants establishments, searching for models displaying such potential. But Mitchell’s idea had seemed doomed to remain purely theoretical, because no fabricant had yet been observed in the early stages of ascendance… until Yoona-939 was discovered.

A sharp young Afrasian science officer happened to visit a particular Papa Song’s in Neo Seoul. There, he noticed a very subtle difference between Yoona-939 and her sisters: it seemed that her bright, Consumer-ready smile occasionally communicated a shade of sexuality.

This, despite their tiny outfits, was strictly forbidden to fabricants at that establishment. The Papa Song Corporation, like all Corporations, had experimented with a variety of fabricant behaviors in order to maximize profits, and their current model—smile cutely, move gracefully, continuing working demurely if groped or otherwise harassed—had converted to the highest sales. The servers were conditioned to tolerate the frequent sexual advances they were subject to with calm expressions, yet strictly forbidden to encourage them; there were different fabricant establishments for such activity.

But although she worked with a pretty efficiency identical to that of her sisters, Yoona-939 seemed to act somewhat differently around some of the non-abusive, relatively civil Consumers; somehow, the smile she showed them was more _inviting_ than the one she bestowed on the rude majority. However tiny, the difference was noticeable enough that the agent found himself smiling _back_ at her when she served him--something he could never recall doing with a fabricant server before. And when he did, he was astonished to see Yoona-939's smile alter yet again, becoming positively flirtatious for a few seconds, until her duties took her out of his presence.

He was very surprised that the diner's Seer hadn’t noticed this quirk in his fabricant’s behavior; but then again, perhaps he had. He did seem to wear a slightly larger smirk when he interacted with her than he did with the other fabricants; however, he treated her no differently otherwise that the agent could see. Still, the officer had a hunch that there might be something more going on between them after work hours.

Although Yoona-939 demonstrated absolutely no other atypical behaviors at work, the agent’s report of her mysterious smile intrigued Hae-Joo and the other leaders of the Nea So Copros collective. Really, the agent’s reaction toward her was more indicative that the fabricant was special than any description he could give; he spoke of her almost affectionately, with a smile lighting up his own dark face and real warmth in his eyes. He persuaded Hae-Joo and the other Union leaders that constant monitoring of Papa Song’s, especially during the fabricant’s four hour sleep shift, would be worth the risk. He even volunteered to discretely place audio and visual monitoring chips in various parts of the diner during the next work shift himself, a highly risky task that required extraordinary skill and dexterity; however, a quick drill convinced them all that he was more than capable. His hunch was proven right, and the risk well rewarded, as the chips soon revealed exactly what Yoona-939 and her Seer were up to.

Their sex could hardly be considered consensual... yet Yoona-939 seemed genuinely eager. This ran completely opposite to the catatonic response of fabricants in all other recorded incidents of forbidden sex with pure-bloods. In fact, behavior like Yoona-939’s had never been observed even among fabricants in commercial sex venues, where a decorous artificiality remained in all encounters. Yoona-939’s sexual desire was, by all appearances, as real as her smile.

It was clear that Yoona-939 also held a slight but crucial measure of power over Seer Rhee, and a place in his limited affections. It would have been far too easy for him to take advantage of her once, then simply report her as defective and get her xcised. Yet from a few days’ observation, it was quite clear that Seer Rhee had no intention of ending their affair any time soon. He didn’t hide his enjoyment of her, to say the least. It was obvious that her eagerness excited him, and while his behavior was constantly dominant, he was clearly aware and even encouraging of her anomalous desire. He kept the collar detonator with him, just as he did during the work shift, but he never threatened to use it. Neither of them ever spoke, yet their frequent encounters far more resembled those of a couple in a mutually pleasurable relationship than of even a Consumer and pureblood sexworker.

Most significantly of all, the Seer allowed Yoona-939 to witness him utterly vulnerable in the stupor of his soap addiction. And this, in turn, gave her effective free reign of the diner while he lay passed out.

She loved to explore, and had apparently stolen the internal access key from the Seer at some point as he slept. This allowed her into areas of the diner normally forbidden to her, such as the storeroom and the Consumer lost and found. Union had no visual surveillance of the lost and found, just an audio chip a few meters from the door; yet it was clear from her frequent entries and the subsequent sounds she made that she was examining and playing with all kinds of Consumer property.

Yoona-939’s combination of sensuality and curiosity, as well as her uncanny ability to gain a subversive control over her Seer in their skewed relationship, all flew in complete defiance of her conditioning. Clearly, she had the potential to ascend fully, and after a couple days of observation, Hae-Joo and his fellow senior officers of the Nea So Copros collective began to make plans to bring her out of the diner.

The diner had a fairly sophisticated security system to deter would-be fabricant thieves from breaking in, but it proved no match for the skill and persistence of Union’s Neo Seoul contingent of hackers. With an all-access orison soon assembled, the remainder of the escape plan unfolded swiftly. The locked sleep boxes were essentially designed to store the fabricants as they rested; Union’s surveillance vidi of Seer Rhee’s actions revealed that it was a simple matter to revive and release a fabricant separately through external override. There was, of course, a chance that the Seer would show up on the same night Union went in to get her, his pattern of visits being unpredictable; however, any capable rebel agent could easily overcome him. And given the history of the Seer’s taboo visits and Yoona-939’s explorations, it was clear that the Enforcer’s surveillance system, a ubiquitous feature of life under Unanimity, was either turned off or left completely un-monitored during the sleep shift. The ruthlessly thorough nature of fabricant conditioning, as well as the blind acceptance of the Unanimic principles from which it had been born, had apparently made the authorities complacent.

It was actually the fabricant conditioning itself that would pose the greatest risk at the beginning of the escape; none of the Union leaders had forgotten Mitchell’s disturbing reports of the violence displayed by fabricants forced to go against their programming. But given Yoona-939’s established curiosity, it seemed unlikely that she would experience any major trauma if she was given the opportunity to leave the diner and explore far more than she ever could have dreamed of. The trick would be introducing the outside world to her in manageable doses. She would need a highly capable guard and mentor to be her guide; Hae-Joo himself was selected for that duty. Preparations were made, and a safe house prepared. But then, Yoona-939 did something that changed the discussion.

At some point, between observations of Seer Rhee and examination of the controls while he was passed out, Yoona-939 too figured out how simple it was to manually reprogram the sleep boxes. One night, she woke a sister: Sonmi-451.

Hae-Joo and his fellow leaders watched, stunned, as Sonmi-451 rose alone and bewildered. She crept timidly toward the noises Seer Rhee and Yoona-939 were making, then hid and watched until they finished with each other. Once Seer Rhee had guzzled a couple boxes of soap and reached oblivion, the two sisters whispered together. Though Sonmi-451 was clearly terrified of disobeying the catechisms, her sister managed to drag her into joining her rebellious exploration of the lost and found.

This unexpected turn of events divided the inner circle of Union. Breaking out and hiding two fabricants would be a good deal more complicated than one, it was true. Yet Hae-Joo was sure he could manage it, and wanted to act immediately; Mitchell supported him via digi from AmerCorpia. Yet they met the argument from other leaders that Sonmi-451 had shown no initiative to free will of her own. Union had only audio surveillance from just outside the lost and found, and while it was clear from the muffled, oddly repetitive sounds that Yoona-939 was showing her sister something, Sonmi-451 kept silent, other than a gasp of fright shortly after entering. The fear and passiveness she clearly displayed on the vidi surveillance spoke unpromisingly of her ability to ascend, the others believed; she might only be temporarily obeying her stronger sister in place of her conditioning, and prove unable to truly break her programming without experiencing serious trauma, or worse. An outburst of panic and violence such as had been observed in fabricants in the Unanimic experiments could cause an already risky escape attempt to fail, and cost them Yoona-939 as well.

Meanwhile, Hae-Joo insisted that he was capable of containing any such incident while minimizing harm to his charges, whether physical or mental, but not all were convinced. Some suggested tranquilizing or otherwise subduing one or both fabricants during the escape. However, Mitchell believed that this would sabotage the ascension process entirely by removing free will from the crucial first decision; the choice to leave must be the fabricants' alone. A few pointed out that Sonmi-451 could well report Yoona-939 to the Seer, perhaps even at the next work shift. Despite the Seer’s sexual enjoyment of Yoona-939, he would be highly unlikely to show her leniency if he became aware of her further forbidden activities after he passed out. With that risk voiced, the proposal that Union should get just Yoona-939 out of the diner as soon as possible, and leave Sonmi-451 behind, gained support.

However, Hae-Joo argued strongly against this with a number of points. If Union took only Yoona-939 and left Sonmi-451 behind, would they not have denied the latter her best chance of self-ascension? Fear was less desirable than eagerness, true, but a fabricant fully obedient to her conditioning would never have left her open sleep box to investigate the dim diner, nor even listened to any of Yoona-939’s rebellious words. Obeying her sister spoke to a bond of familiarity between them, even trust; this was infinitely more promising than blind adherence to Unanimity’s genomics programming. On the other hand, if Union removed only Yoona-939, and Sonmi-451 began to ascend on her own in her sister’s absence, she would very likely be trapped and doomed. A second rescue would be next to impossible in the tightened security after the first, and she would surely be discovered eventually, and xcised. And how would Yoona-939, the precious self-ascending fabricant they all hoped would speak for their cause, react to Union leaving arguably her only friend to such a fate?

A couple of leaders suggested that perhaps Sonmi-451 needed only a little more interaction with Yoona-939 to kindle her own urge to free will, and that an observation period of a few more days was warranted before making a decision to bring one or both fabricants out. Although every day of delay increased the likelihood of the sisters’ discovery, it would further enable the positive outcome of two fabricants being brought safely out of the diner to serve in the Movement, which would be far more than twice as valuable as one. If, alternatively, Sonmi-451 failed to show progress in the next few days, they could with a better conscience choose to bring out just Yoona-939, whose ascendance was already all but certain.

To this, Hae-Joo expressed his firm belief that Sonmi-451 would be able to both leave the diner immediately, and ascend eventually, with his _and_ Yoona-939’s help. He conceded the merit of letting the two sisters continue interacting in the familiar environment of the diner for a few more days, yet the danger of their discovery worried him greatly. He continued to urge immediate action to bring out both fabricants as soon as possible.

But then came a far more radical idea, proposed by General Apis himself: perhaps both sisters should stay put and the entire diner remain under observation for a longer period, to see if this small rebellion grew any larger.

The General’s proposal gave rise to many more questions among the inner circle. Could self-ascension spread among fabricants like a virus in close quarters? Would their sisters be denied a real chance of developing free will if only the two were removed? Or would their sisters eventually report them if they remained, and destroy all of their chances? If the rebellion did spread, how could Union best rescue or otherwise aid all of the awakening sisters before the entire diner was liquidated?

To Hae-Joo, and Mitchell, this was too callous an experiment. It created the very real chance that, in essentially testing the rest of the diner’s so far completely obedient servers for the ability to ascend, they would lose the only two fabricants he _knew_ they could save. But Apis thought it potentially an incredible opportunity for Union. In Yoona-939, they seemed to have the ascending fabricant they had hoped for, whose curiosity and cunning could lead her to full free will and one day inspire the masses to rebel against Unanimity... but just imagine if she were given the chance to lead her own kindred on the path to ascendance, from within the very system of their slavery. She had already possibly infected one sister with her ideas. What if Union had a dozen free-willed fabricants working with the rebellion... or a hundred?

The hopes, concerns and debates had seemed endless, and the leaders of Union had not been able to come to an agreement. And so another typical work shift went by for the sisters at Papa Song’s, and another sleep shift, with a similar sequence of secret visits. This time, Sonmi-451 did not speak at all. Yet in the brief glimpse vidi caught of her face, Hae-Joo thought she seemed a tiny bit less timid as she followed her sister to the lost and found room. After the sisters disappeared into room, the audio monitoring chip soon caught the same muffled, repetitive noises as it had the previous shift, and nothing else.

Unfortunately, that brief glimpse did not persuade anyone else that Sonmi-451 was progressing. For several of the leaders, her silence indicated the opposite, and these again urged immediate rescue of Yoona-939 alone. Hae-Joo played the brief bit of vidi over and over again, trying to make them see what he had in that smooth face, those wide eyes: an increased sense of meaning... a potential... a truth… indeed, he wasn’t sure himself what it was he saw. He wished that Mitchell could see it, too, but his duties had kept him from joining the discussion that night. Still, Hae-Joo vehemently refused to leave her behind; Apis and others counseled another day's wait. He argued against this, too, but failed to convince them. Thus, plans remained at a standstill for another night.

The decision was finally made for them when Yoona-939, possibly emboldened by her sister sharing her secret, exposed herself during the next work shift. She punched a harrassive Consumer in the face—another first, there being no other recorded incident of a fabricant deliberately assaulting a Consumer—then she quoted Tim Cavendish, grabbed an orison from an oddly helpful little girl, and made a break for the elevator. In the bright lights of working hours, surrounded by staring Consumers, Seer Rhee detonated the collar of his secret fabricant lover whose ascendance he had inadvertently aided, and possibly even begun. That night, he returned to the diner at their usual trysting hour and drank a huge amount of soap, past oblivion, to his own death. He was holding a server’s outfit in the colors Yoona-939 had worn to his chest when he expired.

Through the monitoring chips, Union agents witnessed Yoona-939's aborted rebellion and reported it to the leaders of the Neo So Copros collective almost immediately after it occurred. Upon learning of her demise, Hae-Joo had been utterly furious that they hadn’t acted sooner, as he and Mitchell had believed they should. That Yoona-939 had been cut down in her own rash but unprecedentedly bold escape attempt, when he _knew_ he could have gotten her out safely, was almost too bitterly tragic to be borne.

The vision of her final moments from the surveillance vidi haunted Hae-Joo. The way she stood just after she struck her harasser, gazing at the shocked, frozen Consumers and servers surrounding her... so brave, yet so helpless, and already knowing herself doomed. Then she spoke out, clearly and defiantly: “I will not be subjected to criminal abuse.” It was amazing to him that, lacking any education whatsoever, she could understand the meaning of the phrase in the vidi, let alone embody it so completely. But after all, she was sister to Sonmi, who had an uncanny ability to learn and absorb, and who had also taken Cavendish’s phrase to heart before she read a single book.

Then that little girl all but handed Yoona-939 an orison, the key that could unlock her prison, and hope briefly returned to her eyes. She forgot her collar and made a mad dash for the lift, but when she turned back and saw the Seer hold up the detonator, desperation filled her face... then betrayal. Hae-Joo would never forget the way her eyes widened, then grew far away as the blood gushed from her throat, and her body collapsed. How glad he was now that Seer Rhee had ended his own life, to spare him the temptation of killing him unnecessarily, in return for exploiting and destroying a life of such outstanding potential.

At least the child had tried to help her. It was a strange thing for the little girl to have done, as children were drilled very early on the Unanimic hierarchy of life forms. Yet this one had behaved kindly toward a fabricant, and a wayward one at that; it gave one hope for the future. He only hoped that act of assistance did not bode badly for the little girl's future; the Enforcers might overlook it due to her age, but really, there was nothing Unanimity was incapable of. Her little face was so sweet, and somehow familiar. For an instant after he saw it on the vidi, he felt a surge of overwhelming affection and protectiveness. _Dear Humanity, keep that sweet girl safe, and let her survive all that is yet to come._

Even before the official order came, Hae-Joo had channeled his rage and remorse into finalizing preparations to bring out Sonmi-451 during the next sleep shift. An emergency meeting was called for last minute discussions, but he went in with his mind made up to act, to hell with what anyone else thought—including General Apis. But of course, they were now all of the same mind: timid or not, Sonmi-451 had suddenly become too precious for them to lose. How he regretted that he hadn’t convinced them not to wait before, or simply acted on his own initiative, according to what he _knew_ was right, whatever the consequences. It seemed so foolish now that he had let conventional notions of authority sway him--the very rules he had sworn to demolish when they interfered with the truth. The tragic waste of Yoona-939’s ascending life weighed heavily on his soul.

But there was no changing the past; only the present, and, possibly, the future.

The return and apparent suicide of Seer Rhee was picked up by Union's monitoring chips and reported to Hae-Joo while he was on his way to the diner. As he stood over the man’s body in the diner’s storeroom and confirmed his death, Hae-Joo knew his mission had just become even more urgent. In the DNA investigation sure to follow, Sonmi-451’s catechism-breaking activities of the previous sleep shifts would certainly be discovered... probably the very next day. And they were sure to get her xcised.

He was recording the Seer's demise from multiple angles with the orison—officially for Union posterity, though not without a certain cold pleasure—when he felt a prickling at his back. He turned slightly, and surprise made him practically yell as he glimpsed Sonmi-451 herself behind him, already turning to flee. “Wait— _wait!”_ He hadn’t expected her to wake up by herself even with Yoona-939 gone, and he had to force himself to calm down, rapidly, in order to try to calm her. She obeyed him and stopped, frozen but for her trembling; his own hand, held out toward her, nearly shook as he slowly approached.

He told her that there was no reason to hide. He called her by her name, trying to make his voice soft and kind, a voice she would feel she could trust. As she slowly turned back to face him, he had been startled by her eyes; both their wide, innocent beauty, and the flash of recognition the two of them seemed to share. Of course, he had seen her before… in the vidi… but how could she recognize him? She didn’t yet know who he was, so he quietly introduced himself to her.

The first tremulous words she spoke were, "What has happened to Seer Rhee?" She could see the man's body lying in a puddle of bloody vomit just behind Hae-Joo.

She probably thought he had killed him, and well he might have... but he managed to keep the contempt from his voice and answer her in steady voice.

“Soap overdose.” And now he must make her understand what this meant, without causing her to panic.

He began carefully. “It is unfortunate that it had to happen, with everything going so well—” _Really, Chang? That’s the best you can come up with? What, precisely, has been going well for her lately?_ The mocking voice in his head was borne of his fears, but he must not falter now. He continued, moving a few steps closer—“Because now it is probable that the Enforcers and the DNA sniffers will find out about you. And if they do… if they realize your connection to Yoona-939… you will be xcised.”

Her eyes were huge and frightened, but she was listening. He carefully moved still closer. She _must_ leave with him, now, yet it could only be by her own decision. He tried to keep his voice gentle, to send strength and faith from his soul to hers.

“But you have a choice. You can remain here, and risk being discovered… or you can come with me.”

He succeeded; she left the diner with him. This had given her the best possible chance to continue to live and ascend, even as, paradoxically, it put her in constant peril. And now Sonmi had another choice to make, the choice which Mitchell had imagined for her, and General Apis now explained.

She could live in flight and concealment, never knowing when the authorities would flush her out of the shadows and eliminate her. They would very likely succeed, sooner rather than later, and once they did, the world would never be aware that a fabricant had ascended to freedom.

Or, she could expose herself willingly to the entire world. Union had secretly taken over an abandoned satellite station on a remote island whose inhabitants had fled environmental contamination; with the best efforts of the rebel hackers, Sonmi could appear on the official Unanimic channel, spreading the truth of her ascension by live broadcast to every state in the world and all four off-world colonies, rocking the whole of humanity with its waves.

Once she did, Unanimity would descend on her with all its might. Union would provide armed protection at the satellite station, but it would be a suicide mission for all involved. The hackers would not be able to prevent the authorities from tracing the broadcast for long; they themselves would swiftly be traced and killed on the spot. The fighters at the station would be wiped out by the Enforcers shortly after they arrived. Then, Unanimity would capture Sonmi, and destroy her too. Apis did not sugar-coat the truth; he never did.

But, as Apis explained, the retaliation of Unanimity itself would only make the waves caused by Sonmi’s words, by her very existence, all the more powerful. As long as she did not resist capture, she herself would not be killed on the spot; the stupendously public nature of her defiance would guarantee Unanimity’s wish to destroy her in an equally stupendous public fashion. As a former Chief Enforcer, Apis knew well how Mephi and the other Board leaders thought. And he, Mitchell, and Union’s other great minds also knew what the Boardmen in their arrogance did not: Sonmi’s very execution would seal her in the hearts of all people as a symbol of freedom, courage and defiance, and give the Movement the power to topple Unanimity.

This was what Apis and the highest Union leaders believed; Hae-Joo believed it too, wholeheartedly. And he believed, along with them, that Sonmi _must_ speak out, shocking and persuading the masses, or the entire rebellion would soon fail.

Yet Hae-Joo differed from his fellow leaders on one point. In the end, it would probably make no difference whatsoever to their goal, yet it held great meaning to him.

His heart had sunk in his chest when Sonmi stammered, almost shamefully, that she could not do what Apis asked of her. But he had immediately understood why, and he was not at all surprised. He had seen the confusion and anxiety rising in her as Apis spoke, just as clearly as if he could see into her heart. She had only days ago begun to decide her own destiny, had this very day been saved from xcisement, and had a scant hour ago escaped her oppressors once again after a long, violent, filthy ordeal. And now Apis was asking her to speak out against the same crushing forces that she had just fled... to give up her life in that act. Of course she could not agree now. She was exhausted, terrified, and overwhelmed, and she did not yet know all that they were fighting for.

Cruelly, that meant that it was now time for her to know. And as he stood there with Sonmi, his eyes downcast, he realized that, in a bitter stroke of chance, the First Day for fabricants of her Corporation was almost upon them.

Hae-Joo had kept the truth behind xultation in the back of his mind since he met Sonmi, knowing she would have to learn it at some point. If he was honest with himself, the sheer beauty of witnessing her ascendance had made him put it off... then, the last stretch of hours had been overwhelmed with her recapture, and rescue, and their survival. And now, here they stood in Union headquarters with her lacking what was perhaps the most crucial piece of information in her entire journey.

Showing her a processing ship in person in the flesh had never been a remote part of Hae-Joo's plans, but clearly, the idea had occurred to Apis. It had been evident in the look that Apis gave him what he expected of him now.

To see the operations of the Papa Song Corporation’s processing ship itself, up close and in person... this would give Sonmi the most brutal picture of the truth possible... yet also the most complete. 

The idea of showing her such horror made Hae-Joo cringe with loathing... but she _deserved_ to know the entire reality of the rite of xultation and the fate of her kind. It would absolutely shatter her; yet as blissful as her ignorance would seem by comparison, there was no doubt in his mind that Sonmi herself, given the choice, would prefer to know the full truth. Therefore, he must do this.

Like Apis, Hae-Joo thought it very likely that this truth would convince her to speak for their cause; it was quite likely the worst atrocity of Unanimity, and definitely the one that would mean the most to her personally. However, if they were wrong... if Sonmi learned the truth and _still_ chose not to help Union, whether from fear, or the simple desire to live out her life as happily as she could, without sacrificing herself for something greater... Hae-Joo knew that General Apis and the rest of his fellow leaders, even Mitchell, would never let the only ascending fabricant in the world say no and go her way. And this was where Hae-Joo differed with Union.

He couldn’t be sure exactly when he had made the decision. It had probably been set into inexorable motion the moment he had had to let her go, and been faced for the first time with losing her. It had already been final in his heart by the time he embraced her in the prison and swore not to let her go again. Now he knew it consciously: if Sonmi refused Apis, and Hae-Joo was faced with supporting Union or her, his choice was easy.

He would get Sonmi away from them. He would flee with her, hide with her, and protect her, until Enforcer or Union agent alike found them. And he would fight as long as he drew breath to prevent anyone from trying to control her ever again.

It seemed insane, but he knew he would do it if it came to it. The Movement's central truth was written in his soul: freedom was the right of all, yet was easily undermined, and must be protected from every threat. And Hae-Joo meant to safeguard Sonmi's freedom, so dangerous to her, and so very hard-won, above all else... even if it cost Union everything. He knew he was the only person in the world who would be on her side if she said _No_ ; yet it was her choice to make. She was the person whom he... cared about above all else, and he would support her in everything—even this. He could neither stand against her, nor coerce her; after all they had been through, he could not even begin to tolerate her doing anything that was not by her own decision. His allegiance was to Sonmi, whatever she chose.

Yet he doubted it would come to him breaking with the rebellion. He had seen Sonmi’s courage already, watched it grow in leaps and bounds as she grew in knowledge. He had gazed into the limitless depths of her eyes, and he knew that in those depths was a profound ability to care, if she only learned what was truly worth caring about. Seeing the true fate of her sisters headed to xultation would cause her unimaginable suffering; but, having seen it, he did not think she would be able to stop herself from speaking out.

And when she did, this, too, he had already decided: he would protect her until his end.


	13. Connection

All of his memories and reflections had passed by in an instant. Sonmi moved her face a couple inches closer to his, then stopped.

She was asking for him to do now what he had come so close to doing the last time her head on his chest had awoken him, before they were interrupted by the Enforcers. If he was honest with himself, he had yearned for this many, many times since he met her… which had been a very short time ago. But it didn’t matter. He had known her far longer, for such a long time, somehow. And he at last understood the look in her eyes after she lifted her head from his chest, then and now.

She wanted his touch, with all the curiosity and desire of a free being. And she felt the same inexplicable connection he felt toward her; it had grown in their time together, as they learned and struggled, side by side and apart… yet it had always been there, seemingly before they even laid eyes on each other.

He closed the distance between her lips and his.

So soft… his hand drifted to the back of her neck, into her hair, pressing her closer; the world consisted entirely of her soft lips, the silky strands between his fingers, her sweet scent as he breathed her in…

He pulled slowly away. Was this really happening, or was this another lovely vision? His fingers moved of their own accord, stroking her hair as he gazed at her. She was so beautiful…

She blinked, then smiled warmly, shyly… inviting him to kiss her again. He did.

She raised herself on her knees, her slender fingers fluttering behind his neck... the ever-present ache rose within him, but now at last he could let himself go, give in to it, and kiss her deeply... his mouth parted hers, tasting her, and her sweetness fed the ache in him, turning it to hunger; his hands ran down her back, found her slim waist, and lifted her into his lap. 

But as he pressed her to him, she gasped, pulling away slightly. He cupped her cheek, gazing at her; her arms remained around him, but her eyes were wide, and she was trembling. This was all so new to her, and so powerful… and he knew that now more than ever, he must go slowly, be patient with her. But somehow, this did not frustrate him; only filled him with tenderness once more. He had waited for her so long... he could wait a little longer. He could wait for her forever.

He began to stroke her silky black hair again, reassuringly; and she closed her eyes, leaning trustingly into his touch. Eventually, her head sank to rest between his neck and shoulder, her body relaxing against his, and he closed his eyes. It was so lovely: the warm weight of her, her hair brushing his neck, the swift beat of her heart against his chest... he could hold her like this through the night, if that was all she wanted.

But after a little while, he felt her slender hands begin to move, stroking his arms, tentatively; his breath quickened at the delicate touch. Her fingers drifted softly over the bare skin of his upper arms... upward, along his neck, into his own hair... and he felt her raise her head from his shoulder, her warm breath tickling his ear. Then, she began to kiss his neck, lightly, shyly, and the touch of her lips was so sweet… tantalizing… it made him moan softly. He endured as long as he could, not wanting it ever to end, even as he struggled to keep himself still…

Then, he could no longer stop himself, and his hands were cupping her face, his lips seeking hers again; she yielded sweetly, letting his tongue explore her soft mouth as his hands slid down her silky neck, caressed her delicate collarbone, brushed lightly over her breasts… she freed her lips to gasp, but this was a gasp of pleasure, gratifying him. He pressed her to him again, his face against her cheek, and this time, she clung to him tightly... gasped again as his lips drifted down her cheek, along her neck and throat...

He took a moment to gaze at the distinctly comet-shaped mark on her neck. Had he never seen it before...? He must have, if unconsciously; it seemed to him both familiar and new. He lightly traced it with his thumb... such pigment or “birth” marks were common enough among his kind, but practically nonexistent among hers. Could it be from her collar removal, a slight grazing of her skin by the laser? It would be fitting; release from her collar had marked the beginning of her life as a free being, a symbolic rebirth... or had the mark in truth grown with her in the wombtank, in flagrant defiance of her genoming... a miracle as unique as her soul?

Wherever the mark had come from, it was the same: hers, and beautiful. He kissed it softly... let his lips drift to her bare shoulder, breathing her in, tasting her, reveling in the satiny texture of her skin, trembling against his face. His hands found her breasts again, and lingered this time, gently exploring her through the thin silk of her tunic; she shuddered at his attentions, her nipples growing firm beneath the silk, need kindling in her eyes... and he slid his tongue into her sweet mouth again, muffling her gasps as his hands grew more urgent on her. He could feel the warmth between her legs, pressing against his thighs, and was keenly aware of his own arousal, the overwhelming need to have her naked in his arms at last…

He paused, gazing at Sonmi's face. She was panting and flushed with desire, as was he... she also looked confused, as if wondering why he'd stopped. He became aware once more of their surroundings, the battered cot in the dilapidated front room of the flat. He had left her the bedroom; it was more comfortable, even charming in a run-down way. It was time to take her there.

He gathered her in his arms and stood; her eyes stayed locked on his, open and trusting in her flushed face. She felt very delicate as he carried her to the bedroom, and abruptly, a sense of protectiveness surged in him. But what was there to protect her from now... himself?

As he sat on the edge of the low bed, he felt suddenly overcome with hesitation, even as he cradled Sonmi to him. He knew what he wanted, but did she? She was so innocent... had she gleaned enough knowledge from her studies and very limited experience to understand what lay before them? Was she even capable of understanding, given her incredibly short, constrained life thus far?

Or was she simply guided by an instinct inherent to all human beings… an instinct that was her natural right, along with all the same feelings and desires that he was capable of having? Yes, she had lived far differently than he had, and a far shorter time, yet she was no child; however Unanimity had created her and attempted to control her, she had the mind and body of a woman. She had surprised him again and again with the quickness of her ability to learn and understand, with the depth of her feelings...

Did _he_ even truly understand what lay before them? He had always retained a certain detachment in his past sexual encounters, however pleasant, and felt how true intimacy with his partners eluded him. He knew this could never be so with her... and the thought of it made him feel suddenly shy... shyer than she looked, at the moment.

What was he waiting for? There she was in his arms, glowing and breathless with desire; he wanted nothing more than to lay her on the bed and pull off her clothes, freeing her body for him to touch and hold and explore... but would he not then be making the choice for her?

Or was she actually choosing for him to make the choice... submitting freely to his desire, finally unleashed? Did she really know what that meant, and was she truly ready? He gazed into those sweet eyes, looking for an answer. And for a moment, she simply gazed back at him, that expression of intent consideration returning to her face.

Then, as if in response to his unspoken question, she shifted slightly, gripping his shoulders to raise herself... wrapping her long, limber legs around his lap... and the sensation of her warm arousal directly against his completely overwhelmed him. He moaned and rocked his hips, she gasped and tightened her legs around him, and he felt his thoughts, his fears, his self-control, everything that was not her flee him. There was just Sonmi now, as he buried his lips in her neck, his hands sliding beneath her tunic and over her smooth thighs, her slender back, her flat belly and small, round breasts… she was so warm, soft yet firm to his touch, and she surrendered raptly to his explorations, encouraging him with her sweet gasps…

He wanted more, _needed_ more. He slipped her sleeve from her shoulder, his mouth hungrily seeking each new inch of her bare skin, and she closed her eyes, breathing in lovely, soft sighs as his hands slowly eased the clinging fabric lower, his lips close behind them. But before baring her chest completely, some part of him held back, and he raised his head to gaze at her again, needing to be sure. And her eyes opened, and gazed widely back for a moment... then, understanding, she smiled, sweetly and yes, a little nervously, and gave a tiny nod.

It seemed right for him to slide off his own shirt first. Breathing quickly, she took in his bare chest, as she had more than a few times before; waited. Then, almost reverently, he slid her tunic down to her waist, baring her lovely breasts at last.

She shivered slightly as he gazed at her; gasped as he cupped her breasts tenderly, fingers exploring, playing with her... soon, he brought his mouth to them, tasting, nibbling, and her soft, startled moans were music in his ears. Her hands moved urgently in his hair, and he let his mouth grow bolder on her, and her beautiful moans grew louder, longing… then she was pulling his face to hers again, and they kissed feverishly, her hands fluttering over his chest and abdomen, stroking, searching, making him frantic. He pulled her tightly against him, feeling the sweet, hard buds of her nipples pressing against his chest as his mouth devoured hers, her satiny skin sliding over his, their hips slowly beginning to move together, instinctively… he groaned… and then, suddenly she was freeing herself, standing up and backing away from him.

His body silently screamed in protest at being so abruptly deprived of her; but this, too, was her right. She stood a couple meters away, bare to the waist, clinging to the hanging folds of her tunic with lowered eyes; he sat quietly, watching her. He couldn’t tell what was going through her mind... maybe she didn’t quite know herself.

Her eyes flickered back to him. Slowly, she pulled the folds of her tunic down over her hips, let it slide to the floor, and stood there in her underwear; hesitated. Then she took a deep breath, as if summoning her courage, and slipped off her underwear.

She took a small step away from her abandoned clothing, and toward him; her hands started to cover herself, but she stopped them, and deliberately brought them to her sides. Her eyes fell to the floor again. He could see the blush in her cheeks.

A lump rose in his throat. Her beauty stirred him unimaginably, yet her vulnerability in that moment nearly broke his heart.

He moved slowly, for his sake as well as hers; carefully slid off the rest of his own clothes, left them in a pile next to the bed, and stood before her.

Her breath caught as she took in his entire body for the first time; her eyes found his again, and in them were longing and timidity together. It was a plea for help... she was asking him to show her the way.

This he could do. He held out his hand to her, smiling gently. She stood as she had in front of the lift that first night, wide-eyed and uncertain. But as then, she slowly reached out, put her hand in his, and let him draw her toward him.

His arms loosely encircled her, his erection pressing lightly against her belly; she twitched nervously at the touch, but she did not pull away. He let his hands caress her graceful curves, softly, patiently; gradually, he felt her muscles grow supple, surging and undulating beneath his hands as she began to respond to him, sighing. Slowly, her hands began to caress his back, his hips... her touch urged him on, and he kissed her deeply, tightening his arms around her, pressing their bodies together, and she moaned into his mouth, clinging to him.

Deftly, he scooped her up, lay her carefully down on the bed, and stretched himself out beside her. Then, gently, he reached between her thighs to cup her soft, slick warmth.

She inhaled sharply, her body stiffening, and looked at him with something like shock. He kissed her softly, reassuringly; caressed her, and she trembled and moaned, shock turning to passion as her body arched toward him. He began to explore her, gentle but insistent, urgent to open her to him; his mouth fell again to her nipples as he slipped a finger slowly inside her sweet, tight wetness, and her cries took on a desperate, pleading quality. But before he could do much more, her slender, reaching hands found his hardness; then, instinctively, she began to caress _him,_ as he moaned uncontrollably.

And now she was on top of him, parting her legs, pressing her wet warmth against his erection; their mouths entwined again, and he could think of almost nothing but being inside her at last... yet he knew that the first time would probably hurt her. And he wondered if _she_ knew.

He sat up, Sonmi astride his lap, and gently freed his mouth; slowly, he raised her hips so that she was kneeling over him... carefully, he held his erection to her slick, warm opening and stroked her with it. She moaned yearningly in response, and he nearly lost control, but held on. He let her feel the pressure, the initial stretch at her opening... then, instinctively, she pushed closer, bringing his head slightly inside her. Somehow, he held himself still as she blinked rapidly, a small mew of pain escaping her. It took all his concentration not to press further inside her, but _she_ would decide when, and if, they continued. He slowly leaned back on his hands, waiting.

She hovered above him for a few seconds; then, she drew a deep breath, and began to lower herself, pushing his length into her. His eyes closed… he was entering her… he gave a soft gasp. He was inside her.

How good she felt... it was all he could do not to move, but his first thought was of her. Eyes opening, he saw her breasts rise and fall as she breathed hard; she must hurt. But as he raised his eyes to hers, he saw that they were calm... unafraid.

Reassured, he gave the lightest of thrusts. She inhaled quickly, but did not wince... again, and her breath remained steady.

Was she simply hiding her discomfort, as she’d been forced to do in her former life? No, there were tears in her eyes, showing her pain; but he also saw her trust, and her desire. Consciously or unconsciously, she had understood that this most intimate act would hurt her, and she had wanted it still.

Now, more than anything he had ever wanted in his life, he wanted her to feel as much pleasure as he did in this meeting… the most intimate thing _he_ had ever done, because now it was with her.

He couldn’t hold himself back anymore, and began to thrust in a slow, steady rhythm, still gentle, always watching her… she held onto him, quietly feeling him move in her, gazing at him with beautiful, soft eyes. Time seemed to stand still as he cherished that gaze, his soul bathing in the sweetness of her trust in him…

Her hands tightened on him as she drew herself closer, bringing him deeper, and he groaned. Reflexively, he thrust harder, and her breath caught; he was losing control now, but he could feel her responding, starting to move with him. Hs right hand found her thigh, his left hand her hip, pulling her closer; and soon, they were truly moving together, each thrust bringing a soft moan of pleasure from her, and ecstasy surging through him.

He pressed her hips firmly to him, thrust harder still; she gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders, and he glimpsed her gorgeous, astonished face. She gripped at his neck and hair, his back, and he shifted one arm behind him for support as he thrust strongly, again and again… now her face was before his, and he saw her bewildered rapture, the pleasure so deep and overwhelming it almost frightened her.

“ _Yes_ ,” he breathed to her. She trusted him; she would go with him. His arms encircled her, fingers folding behind her neck as he held her tightly to him, thrusting deeply, on and on…

She exhaled in shocked bliss, and his hand slid down her back as her body tightened around him, bringing him to the peak… then, she arched her back, and he let her go even as he held her close, thrusting deep within her... and then she surged above him, crying out, throwing her head back as her eyes fluttered closed. And for a single, timeless instant, he just gazed up at her in the beauty of her release.

Then, as if her flight had been a signal that the barriers within him could burst at last, he bowed his head and buried his face in her chest, crying out as he came with the greatest intensity he had ever known.

He finally sank back on the bed, drawing her with him. They lay together, spent, ever joined… both physically and with the unseen, unbreakable bond that reached beyond this life.

 

As Hae-Joo drifted off to sleep, he saw a beautiful red sunset over the ocean. He was lying on the deck of the sailing ship, wrapped in a blanket; his dark friend sat nearby, making sure he didn’t miss a second of the splendor even in his illness. How he wished that his beloved wife could see this, too... now that his wedding ring had been cut off to save his swollen hand, he no longer had even that small, precious part of her. And yet he felt, somehow, that she was with him even now.

He saw Robert Frobisher smoking atop a large monument, gazing at an equally beautiful golden sunrise. His eyes were shining with joy and clarity, in spite of his poverty and scandalous, fugitive status, in spite of the certainty that the masterpiece he toiled at was doomed to be suppressed... that he would be considered mad for what he had done, and what he was yet to do. He heard Frobisher’s voice, speaking words from a letter to his beloved Sixsmith: _All is so perfectly, damnably well._

He saw his tattooed brother-in-law on a mountain, gazing at the sleeping brown woman. He thought her mad indeed, dragging him up here so she could send a prayer from the temple strewn with skeletons. She had told him that Sonmi had spoken her revelation there; that she’d once been a woman herself, who’d lived, suffered, and died before she became a goddess. She had proven the truth by showing him an image of Sonmi herself, speaking the words he knew so well... her face had been deeply sad, an odd light flickering on her face, as if from distant flames... and the brother had begun to accept this new truth, even as he continued to believe in Sonmi’s power. But now, the brown woman expected him to believe something even stranger than a human being becoming a god: she hoped that people living in the stars would hear the prayer she’d sent, fly down and take her and her kin away from this dying world that was poisoning them, off to a new home. It sounded mad... but she’d proven him wrong before. He liked talking to her, even if much of what she said sounded crazy; he even thought she was beautiful. She had only a fancy but thin-looking blanket, so he took off his own cloak and tucked it carefully around her as she slept. He didn't want her to get cold.

Then, Sixsmith found his lover Frobisher at last, in a shop full of antique china. He seemed perplexed as he entered; Frobisher, turning and noticing him, looked inexplicably formal, a white porcelain statue of a mounted warrior slaying a dragon in his hands.

Suddenly, he raised his hands and let go. The statue fall to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces; and in the shattering was beautiful music.

Frobisher grinned knowingly, and Sixsmith smiled back, understanding. The two began to throw plates, overturn shelves, and outright smash every piece of china they could, with gorgeous music accompanying each burst of shards. Somehow the glorious, musical shattering mingled with Sonmi’s ecstatic release... and Robert Frobisher spoke again: _My life extends far beyond the limitations of me_.

Then, with a maestro’s grand flourish from Frobisher and a joyous jolt of Sixsmith’s arms, the music swelled, as dozens of pieces of china rained down from the ceiling… and Sixsmith jerked awake.

The quiet young man had dreamed it all, having fallen asleep on the train on his way to look for Frobisher. But Hae-Joo had seen the same things... true visions of intertwined souls, of past and future lives, dreaming and influencing one another. He knew that Sixsmith had witnessed him and Sonmi, come together at last; and in his current state of consciousness, he found this to be perfectly appropriate. He also knew that the quiet Sixsmith would bear witness to their love again, in the future. And the last thing he saw before he slid into sleep too deep for dreams was Sixsmith’s surprised, wondering smile.

 

The next day Hae-Joo and Sonmi did little more than sleep, eat and make love.

Sonmi’s body was engineered to need less rest than Hae-Joo’s did, and he had burned all his reserves recently, so he never got to see her sleep again. But he did notice that she seemed comfortable enough with a blanket when she slept with him.

That first night, he slept for ten hours straight, all the efforts, strain and passion of the past hours and days finally catching up with him. When he woke, she was resting her head on his chest again, her eyes gazing at him in the grey light.

He didn’t say a word. His first thought was the realization that making love to her had not been a dream; he let it spread over him like a warm glow. It had truly happened, and he was awake now; they were still naked, and this was real.

Then it was as if they were starving, frantic to join again. No more uncertainty, no more hesitation… just deep, pure, passionate union.

The intensity of her desire astonished him, and the sensations of her warm, silky flesh moving over him, her soft mouth fervent on his lips, neck, and chest, aroused him insanely... soon, she was guiding him into her, and he groaned as she began to thrust against him rhythmically, her face upturned in passion. He took hold of her hips, helping her move, and he felt as if his brain were going to explode. Had they really only last night become lovers? It didn’t seem possible.

But then, she had always been like this, his red-haired love, incredibly sensual for all her seeming delicacy... and she learned with such swiftness, whatever she did... one need only consider the incredible amount of information she absorbed during her hours with the digis. She was moving fluidly over him, moaning, her climax already close... he held back, his hands light on her hips and breasts, letting her move freely, and it was torment, sweet, glorious torment... yet she had taught him such patience before. Yes, it had always been as if she were the one teaching him, from the very first time she gave herself to him, long ago... even from the moment he first met her...

She cried out as orgasm took her, beautiful spasms of release flickering across her face, throbbing in her core that held him... he waited, long, long moments, until she slumped forward, still trembling, her breasts brushing his chest.

Then, at last, he rolled her over, pushed her long legs back, and thrust to his pleasure, hard and deep, over and over, as she gasped, and rough grunts burst from his depths… swept in an overpowering wave that grew ever stronger, he moved, taking her with him, to worship, to madness he never wanted to end, punctuated by his groans, her ecstatic cries as together, they burst beyond the world…

As they lay exhausted once more, he caressed her cheek, thinking that life could not be any more perfect.

But then his stomach suddenly reminded him that it was empty. It occurred to him that for him and her both, their last real meal had been… too long ago.

He had found nothing but tea in the cupboards after they got in the night before. He had longed to comfort Sonmi, silent and forlorn since they left Union headquarters, but he had been too exhausted to do more than brew them a pot, and take one drink. Then, fatigue had brought him crashing down on the cot.

He dimly recalled seeing Sonmi walk toward the window before he fell asleep… little had he known that she would soon come to him, and that she would be in his arms now…

A growl from his stomach pulled him from his reverie back to the matter at hand. The flat really ought to be stocked with food somewhere—at least some protein packs, the usual stand-by. But if necessary, he could run to the one of the shops just downstairs. He gave her cheek a last caress; got up, and found his pants for a start. As he entered the front room, he spotted a bundle by the door.

He opened it to reveal a primitive sight: stone pots of dolsot-bap, kimchi, and herring. Naturally colored, with no special presentation, lacking any synthetic flavors whatsoever, from the smell... still warm.

 _Welcome to Old Seoul,_ he thought, delighted. This had to be from the elderly, female rebel sympathizer who owned the flat.

When Hae-Joo met her a couple years ago, he had wondered why on earth a wrinkled but comfortable-looking old woman would risk her life to aid Union. She didn’t have the bony, weary look of the elderly subs who’d been allowed to live out their difficult years in the slums; she seemed in very good health, even past the age when medical problems got a lot of older Consumers euthanized. He was so curious that he finally outright asked her how she had come to the old city, and the cause.

As she explained to him, she _had_ lived for most of her life as a Consumer, and happily enough; but she could no longer in good conscience call herself one. Her husband had been sent off to euthanasia a decade ago, and apparently, their model Consumer son had grown tired of waiting for his other parent to meet her end. First, he had tried to bribe her doctor. But this doctor had a rare humanity about him, for an agent of Unanimity; he had cited her excellent health and refused, even warned her about her son. Yet she had felt helpless, and unable to quite believe that her own son could be that impatient for her to die... until her son reported her, her gentleman friend, and their dear acquaintance to the Enforcers.

Their sole offense was a habit of bringing up Boardman Mephi’s “stupid face,” as they liked to call it, while they chuckled over their tea. It had been a joke among them for years, and none of them really knew how it had begun... but it sufficed to get them all shut away in the Neo Seoul prison.

She’d been released from solitary confinement, soul-scarred but otherwise fortunate, after two months. Her acquaintance had been chosen for experiments, and was released several months later. He was never the same afterward, and tended to repeat himself a lot now. Her gentleman friend was never released; she could only conclude that he died, naturally or by euthanasia.

With misty eyes, she admitted to Hae-Joo that he had been in more frail condition than her; however, she liked to believe that while in prison, he might have shown the authorities a bit of the defiant streak that she had known and loved. Thoughts of him had kept her alive during her long, horrible days in the cell, locked away from the world, stripped of every dignity... she had always felt as if she had known him far longer than a handful of years, and he’d brought her such happiness, so late in life.

After a quiet moment, she wiped her eyes, and continued her story. When she returned to her flat, she was unsurprised to discover that her son and his wife had taken it over and disposed of everything she had owned. Her son, after getting over the shock of seeing her in the land of the living, did not show even a scrap of shame over what he had done. It was his flat now, and he freely admitted that he had also cleaned out all her credit accounts... save one, the largest, which was locked to all but her until her death. Perhaps, if she transferred that account to him, he _might_ let her back into what had been her own home. Only with control over that account he justify the expense of housing and feeding her; really, he thought Unanimity was mistaken to allow her to live, at her age.

She was old, but she still had her wits about it, and her time in prison had made her braver than before. She simply walked away... out of the building, into the street... and kept going. She had had no conscious destination, simply _away_... yet she was unsurprised to find herself at the Old Seoul damway, hours later. No one bothered her on her way; as she put it, she was just a little old thing with nothing left to lose, and neither Enforcer nor criminal thought her worth the trouble. She had not a single hand credit on her, but somehow, she talked an oily hotel manager into giving her a room for the night, promising to pay him the price of several rooms the next day.

In the morning, through some careful, diligent asking around, she managed to locate some rebel sympathizers… something, Hae-Joo thought wryly, that had taken him and Jae about a year to do. She said she needed them to help her access her credit account; once she did, she intended to work against Consumer culture, and help Union.

Since then, she had adopted the old-fashioned, modest way of life of those subs in the old city who had a few credits between themselves and the gutter. She bought a number of relatively intact properties in Old Seoul, taking a tiny flat for her home while renting several others out for income. She also maintained a few as Union safe houses; Hae-Joo and Sonmi were in one now. Through the rebel network, she had searched tirelessly for her love and their dear acquaintance; though she had to let go of her sweetheart, she was eventually able to locate their grizzled friend and have him brought to her home in the old city, where she cared for him now. Other than the minimal amount they needed to live, she gave all her income to the rebels; all her properties would pass to them upon her death. But Hae-Joo hoped the remarkable old lady would live a good many years yet.

She’d even made and brought over breakfast… or a late lunch... whatever time it was. It looked like enough to do for both, and dinner besides.

He would have liked to see the old lady again and thank her. But out of stealth or consideration, she had managed to slip in and out undetected, which was rather disconcerting to him. Yet he’d been more exhausted the previous night than he had been in a long time; perhaps, unconsciously, he had sensed a friend rather than an intruder, and therefore slept on. Anyway, he hoped their paths would cross again.

Hae-Joo heard Sonmi’s bare feet behind him and turned to see her wearing her black cloak for a robe and nothing else, staring curiously at the alien substances. They bore almost no resemblance to any of the Consumer-beloved preparations she had served at the diner; in fact, many a self-respecting Consumer would throw this stuff away as soon as touch it. But Hae-Joo enjoyed it very much, and felt in the mood for some strong-tasting food, for change.

“Come,” he said, feeling eager as a boy. He found a mat in the corner and spread it on the floor. “Are you hungry?”

She looked at him blankly. Then she put a hand on her abdomen. “Is that this feeling—like roaring in my stomach? Almost painful?”

And he realized this was yet another new sensation for her. Her soap feedings had been so precisely formulated and scheduled that she would never have felt hungry as a fabricant, and in her first days of freedom, she had drunk cartons of liquid protein on more or less the same schedule. Now, she hadn’t eaten since before she was captured; she must be starving just as he was. Yet she didn’t even know the pleasure of real food; surely he had neglected his duty to expose her to this part of life. He himself had gotten too used to treating food as mere fuel lately, and gone for the easiest solution for them both in the Neo Seoul flat: protein packs for him and, to help her adapt, the closest substitute for what she was used to… just without the added sedatives… and derived from—different—sources. He pushed that subject out of his mind, knowing it would face them soon enough.

Now, however, she could try food that had been common in this part of the world many centuries before fabricants were genomed, before the tides had covered the old city, before even the first skyscraper stood; ancient food in traditional fashion. He explained this to her while he set out the old bowls and chopsticks that had come in the bundle. As he served her generous portions, he described each dish, and noticed fondly that her face held the same transfixed wonder as when they had ridden the elevator up out of the diner together, and when she had seen her new clothes, and the Tim Cavendish vidi. This was something strange, and new, and beautiful.

She had never used chopsticks, though she had seen them often enough at the diner. He helped her with the first few bites, and she picked it up quickly. As famished as he was, the sight of her slowly putting food in her mouth, chewing, and swallowing fascinated him. She ate with uncanny concentration, just as she studied; he could hardly take his eyes off her.

When he asked if she liked the food, she stopped and stared at him with such solemnity that he quickly offered to find her some liquid protein. But she shook her head; still, it took her a long time to answer.

“I don’t know the right words. It is… good… so very good. Almost as good as you inside me.” It was his turn to stop eating and stare.

But then, what would it be like for him to feel intense hunger and satisfy himself with real, decent food for the very first time? The wonders of the world, as seen through her eyes, would never end.

Their friend had given them big, full containers. Still they ate, and ate, and ate, filling their stomachs, until nothing was left. Hae-Joo had to laugh at the profound satisfaction on Sonmi’s face, indeed akin to post-orgasmic bliss, as she finally set down her chopsticks and bowl with a sigh.

She looked startled, and he realized she had never heard him laugh out loud before. She would have been accustomed to all kinds of laughter at Papa Song’s, but never any that she could enjoy.

“I laughed because I’m happy you liked it so much,” he whispered in her ear, and kissed her cheek. She still seemed a little confused; but she smiled at him, that sweet, darling little smile that made his heart sing, and he pulled her close.

Yet, even as her body relaxed deliciously against his, he felt a pang. Would he ever hear _her_ laugh? Unlikely, in harsh reality. Somehow, he couldn’t even imagine the sound; perhaps fabricants lacked the reflex. But surely if she could cry, she could laugh. She probably just needed more time to learn… time they didn’t have. They had experienced so much that was lovely and new, but there were so many other things they would never know together…

 _Don’t think about it_. _Not yet. Not right now._ He leaned back against the wall, holding Sonmi and the beauty of that moment to him, forgetting everything else.

 

The flat had neither all-cleaner nor shower, nor a drier of any sort; just a tub and a single, worn towel. The tub was old and battered, but it appeared that their unseen hostess had scrubbed it recently, and the towel looked clean enough. And so Hae-Joo introduced Sonmi to something else pleasingly unfamiliar.

To their good fortune the ancient tap, after a couple minutes of cold, brownish spluttering, delivered forth clear, hot water. Accustomed to a world of instant Consumer gratification and precise efficiency, Sonmi seemed mesmerized by the slow progress of the tub filling.

Hae-Joo couldn’t remember the last time he had soaked in a bath, but he had at least had the experience at some point, unlike her. She watched intently as he turned off the tap, pulled off his pants and climbed in. He arranged himself at one end of the tub and held out his hand. “In you come.”

She let her cloak fall and approached. Taking his hand, she cautiously stepped over the edge into the hot water; wobbled, startled at the sensation. He helped her turn and lower herself into a comfortable position against him. Then, he leaned back, relaxed every muscle in his body, and savored the quick trip to heaven this resembled.

After only a minute she asked, “So… we just stay here like this?”

He stifled another laugh. “Well, you can wash up, like in a shower. But you can also just lie in a bath to enjoy it.”

He felt her considering this. Fabricants were never allowed to relax and simply enjoy things for the sake of enjoying them. But she had begun to… vidis, books, music… food… sex. She was learning. She rested quietly against him for another minute or two, but he could tell she wasn’t quite relaxed.

Suddenly she turned to him again, an eager look in her eyes. “I would enjoy washing you.”

He felt such tenderness for her then, he could hardly stand it. But he managed to smile around the lump in his throat. “All right.”

She only had the little bit of cleanser he had found and her hands to work with, yet it felt like she was massaging the very darkness from his soul. Where on earth had she learned this? He gazed at her, blissful and surprised… for an instant she had long, damp red curls instead of chin-length black tresses, and her sweet brown eyes were pale green… she gazed back at him warmly, and in her very sweetness was a deep strength. She’d always had this inside her, but she was finally able to express it, here and now... he basked in pleasure as her slender hands moved over him, gentle and strong.

Eventually, it was his turn to wash her. He’d never done this for anyone before, yet with her, it felt both lovely and familiar. He was tender and thorough, and she reveled in his attentions; afterward, she lay against him in contented silence for a long time.

As the water cooled, it was time for them to reluctantly emerge. He helped her out, carefully dried her with the towel, then wrapped her in her black robe-cloak. But she caught his hands, sliding them with a soft smile between the folds of the robe, onto her breasts; shrugged the robe from her shoulders so that it fell to the floor again. And her wondrous hands began to move again on his dripping, shivering body, their purpose clearly other than to relax him now…

He grasped helplessly for the towel, trying to dry himself quickly, but in no time, it fell to the floor next to her robe as he abandoned the attempt, passion rising hot within him, her hands and mouth exploring him... for a while, he felt as if he might willingly stand in that bathroom for the rest of his life...

But after a time, when he was nearly dry, he managed to steer her to the bedroom. There, he gently but firmly removed her hands, pressed her back on the bed, and began to kiss her, beginning with her mouth, making his way slowly downward... despite, or perhaps because of how much she had aroused him, he wanted to prolong this, to take her on a long, meandering journey, and that meant it was his turn to play with her now. He went as slowly as he could, teasing her mercilessly with fingers, lips, and tongue… sweetly tormenting her, and bringing a whole new kind of blissful, incredulous gasp out of her...

She was so responsive, so intoxicating to touch and taste, that he never wanted to stop such sweet play, nor the gorgeous song of her breathless, nearly piteous cries; but eventually, he had to show her mercy. And so, he increased his intensity, tenderly and ruthlessly urging her to the completion her body craved...

When she had given one last, sweet cry, and collapsed limply on her side, he folded himself around her, and let her rest a bit.

But after some minutes, he let his hands move on her again; caressing her hips, pressing her against his own, still aroused body behind her. She was tired still, but she stirred sensuously against him with a sigh... and he kept her facing away from him, playing with her breasts, nipping at her neck and ears, letting her feel him behind her, around her, enfolding her... and soon she was shuddering, her breaths coming quick and ragged. Then, one hand still at her breasts, he slipped the other between her thighs, and she cried out weakly as he ruthlessly explored her sweet wetness all over again, their desire ever reborn, ever the same... and finally, when he could no longer take it, and she was beyond ready for him again, he slid inside her once more.

Her moans were beautiful to hear... he gazed down at her, utterly open to him, overcome with the pleasure he was giving her; he thrust slowly, deliberately, trying to hold back his own groans... for he longed to make love to her for eternity.

But slowly, inevitably, passion began to overwhelm him, despite his efforts... he clasped her tightly to him, the pace of his thrusts quickening; the groans began to escape him, and her moans again became exquisite cries. His fingers found her slick, delicate bud once more, just above where their bodies joined, bringing her cries to a crescendo… and then, he could no longer hold back at all, and he thrust swiftly, deeply, his own cries joining Sonmi's, until they came together.

At last, he reached down to draw the blanket over them both where they lay. Every muscle in her body had relaxed, as had his; yet while her eyes had closed in sublime gratification, his were still open, gazing at her, wanting to keep this vision of her in his eyes forever. But eventually, he fell asleep to the easy rhythm of her quick, peaceful breaths. He dreamed no dreams.


	14. Letting Go

The next day was First Day for fabricants of the Papa Song Corporation.

Sonmi seemed to sense that something was different, even as Hae-Joo took her in his arms soon after dawn. He held her close, but he knew their beautiful respite was over; he could not forget it, and she felt it through him. They didn’t make love. After a few moments, he kissed her softly, then got up and began to dress. She quietly followed.

He knew that all the fabricants in all the diners and venues of the Papa Song chain throughout Neo Seoul had already risen and prepared for the day’s work according to usual routine... but today, they had begun a little earlier than usual, in order to accommodate a special ritual. Today, every member of the sisterhood had had her collar stamped with a star by the Seer, representing the last year’s service. Then, one smiling fabricant with no stars yet on her collar had been led into the diner by special attendants and welcomed by her sisters... and one smiling fabricant with the same face, who had just received her twelfth star, had been dressed in a long, papery white robe and led away by those same red-garbed attendants. Away to what fabricants knew only as xultation, and believed to be freedom; doubtless, the remaining sisters had looked on proudly and enviously at the departing one as they sang their sacred hymn.

Sonmi would have eagerly anticipated this ritual throughout the year; however, outside the blueprint of her Papa Song life, she seemed to have lost track of the date. There was no other way for her to know, for it wasn’t a day of any significance in the pure-blood world outside of the genomics industry. Hae-Joo was glad for this small mercy. She would know soon enough.

Today there was a new, reddish bundle by the door, next to some protein packs… presents from Apis. Hae-Joo knew what the bundle was without looking: red Papa Song coveralls to help them sneak onto the processing ship. It would not be difficult; such ships were far from secret, and all pure-bloods knew of their existence and purpose. The overwhelming majority simply did not care.

He made some tea, and they shared it and a protein pack in silence. It was a cheap, palatable meal in a small package, assembled for optimal nutrition… not unlike soap. Each bite, undeniably bland after the strong, traditional flavors of their previous meal, seemed to stick in Hae-Joo’s throat. He could hardly meet Sonmi’s eyes. They had grown wide with concern, but she was clearly afraid to ask what was weighing on him so heavily.

When they had finished, he cupped her cheek, gazing one more time into her sweetness… that eternal innocence. He saw her tiny smile trying to return, and had to look away.

He got up, took her hand and led her to the door. “Come. There is something I must show you.”

He guided her though the old city toward the docks, keeping her close to him, as always; but he could feel the gulf between them widening as their destination approached. As they drew nearer to the ship he knew, though she did not, that she was moving farther and farther away from him, toward a place of agony and betrayal where he would not be able to follow. No one but another ascending fabricant could fully understand how she would feel; for now, she was the only one of her kind. He could but witness her journey.

The smog hung at heavy thickness that morning, making the day almost as dark as night. It was only fitting, as a beam of sunlight would have been wrong to fall on what now lay before them: the Papa Song processing ship, and the long stream of white-clad fabricants proceeding inside its hulking, smoking, gigantic black mass.

He could tell Sonmi did not quite know what she was seeing, even in this early stage. She could not have been aware of the huge number of venues the Papa Song chain had in the megapolis of Neo Seoul; that thousands of fabricants went through the xultation ritual on Papa Song’s First Day every year. She had known only her own diner, and her immediate sisters. She had never seen the blissful fabricants’ long, slow procession through the city’s utility tunnels, led by their red-robed escorts—themselves fabricants, a stocky male security model commonly outsourced by processing ships—joined by more and more joyous, white-robed sisters, all singing the xultation hymn as they made their way to the ocksd. She was still too far away to hear the angelic voices, the lovely musical theme.

The scale of the event required many of the larger Corporations to have their own First Day, for their fabricants alone. A majority of the Corporations leased the same dozen or so ships, which staggered their schedules, as their work for each establishment took several days beyond the First Day itself to complete. But the Papa Song franchise, being one of the biggest Corporations of all, fully owned the enormous ship in which its venues’ fabricants were processed, and leased it out to other establishments. It was massive even by processing ship standards, a marvel of the Corporate genomics industry.

“This is what the General wished me to see?” Sonmi asked him.

Hae-Joo stood next to her, holding the red coveralls, and saw the barest beginning of comprehension in her face. The subconscious always grasped the truth first… but her conscious mind had a long, cruel way to go.

He nodded at her, unable to speak, and handed her a set of coveralls. He put the other one on over his clothes, and she followed his example. They slowly and silently made their way down to the fabricants’ entrance tunnel; entered through the maintenance doorway, and climbed the stairs to the viewing platform.

They were still high above the fabricants, but Sonmi could now clearly recognize it all: the beautiful hymn, the hooded white First Day dresses, the Papa Song logos, and the red-robed attendants lining the tunnel. She gazed out on the sea of her sisters’ faces as they processed below, faces she doubtless knew very well. Many of them had identical features to hers, yet to Hae-Joo, she differed from them in countless ways, from the concrete to the inexplicable.

Right now, all her sisters’ faces were uplifted in reverent joy, while Sonmi’s wore a puzzled expression. “They believe they are going to xultation. But they are not… are they?”

It was less a question than a statement, and her voice already held a hint of dread. Hae-Joo said nothing; there was nothing he could say.

They could barely see the doorways at the end of the vast tunnel, twenty across, covered with logo-emblazoned plastic curtains. Each doorway was flanked by two attendants in red, who removed the fabricants’ white hoods and held open the curtains for them to enter, one at a time. As each blissful fabricant crossed the threshold, a green light next to each doorway turned red; and about a minute later, the light turned green again, and the next fabricant was ushered in, beaming in rapturous anticipation. The pattern constantly repeated as the mass of singing fabricants made their way, slowly but inexorably, through the curtains.

There was no way for Hae-Joo and Sonmi to see what happened in the minute after the fabricants disappeared... but they could view what happened next. He led her along the maintenance shaft to the viewing area; stepped aside and held open another set of plastic curtains with a fat, cheery face and the words “Papa Song” in red script, to let her go first. He steeled himself for what awaited, aware that as nightmarish as it would be to him, even knowing what to expect, for Sonmi it would be incomprehensibly, indescribably, and infinitely worse.

He heard her gasp, and glimpsed her stricken face as he followed her into the viewing area. Then he, too, was confronted by the horror before them: hundreds upon hundreds of female human bodies, hanging by their feet from hooks, being moved efficiently through various stages of dismemberment and dissolution, accompanied by the hum and hiss of industrial blades, blowtorches, and heavy machinery at work… the bubble and stench of human flesh, blood, and fat.

He spoke in a low voice, stating the facts of what they saw. “The genomics industry demands a huge quantity of biomatter for womb tanks, but more importantly, to sustain the engineered labor force. Recycled fabricants are a cheap source of protein.”

“Soap,” Sonmi whispered, trembling, tears spilling from her eyes. “They feed us… to ourselves.” The full truth had come to her.

She turned and staggered back through the doorway, and he followed her, catching her as she stumbled. Immediately, something shifted in him. She had seen what she had to see; now, he would get her out of this loathsome place as quickly as possible.

He gripped her around her upper arms and led her swiftly beside him toward the exit. She walked stiffly, hunched over, as if uncertain how her legs functioned. Emotionally, she seemed to have gone numb; he must exploit this as long as he could.

He moved her rapidly back along the entry tunnel, where hundreds of fabricants were still streaming in, singing. Sonmi whimpered as she heard the hymn, its beauty now folded into the nightmare, her numbness beginning to crack… she stumbled, and nearly fell again, but Hae-Joo kept her upright and moving.

Then she was trying frantically to turn around, to run toward her sisters disappearing through the curtains. He knew what she wanted to do, and he couldn’t let her.

“No, Sonmi!” he spoke vehemently in her ear, holding her tightly. She fought him with surprising strength, her eyes wilder than he’d ever seen them. “ _No._ They won’t believe you—think how you used to be. And they won’t be allowed to leave this place, even if they do. We can’t help them here—you’ll only get caught, and end up just like them.”

She stopped struggling as his words sank in, and her eyes seemed to empty, to die. He rushed her onward. He could still feel her trying helplessly to turn around in his arms, but he kept her from looking back again.

They were out… making their way back to the first overlook… they were there. The singing was finally out of earshot, and he let her rest for a moment, still holding her. She looked down at their red, logoed coveralls as if seeing them for the first time.

With a burst of strength, she broke away from him. She didn’t run, but grasped frantically at the coveralls, pulling, ripping them from her body, kicking them away. Then, she finally collapsed in convulsive, anguished sobs... wailing, choking, barely able to breathe...

He hurriedly discarded his own coveralls before kneeling at her side. His heart was shattered as he crushed her to him; feeling her violent spasms, her moans into his chest, her tears soaking his jacket... the depths of her devastation. And for a moment, he wished desperately that he could undo it all.

Yet he could not. She had seen… and she had _had_ to see. This, the blackest and most horrifying truth she could learn, was no less essential a part of her journey toward free will than all the beauty and wonder she had known. But to see the pain it caused her, pain he was utterly helpless to stop or soothe, hurt him more than he could ever have imagined… once again, he wished that he could shed tears.

Just an hour ago they had come here side by side; now she was far away from him, in the place he couldn’t reach. He couldn’t protect her from it, only protect her as she made her way through it.

That meant he had to be strong for her now, and get her back to the flat safely. It was dangerous to huddle here any longer.

With great gentleness, he spoke in her ear. “Sonmi, we have to stand up now. I’m right here; I’ll help you.”

He lifted her with him as he stood, leaning her into him, holding her shoulders so she wouldn’t crumple. He could feel her trying to support herself, even as she shuddered with sobs… with one arm firmly under hers, he maneuvered her to his side, and she managed to stand with his help, though she still wept uncontrollably. His heart broke all over again. “Good. Now we’ll walk, one step at a time.”

He carefully drew the hood of her cloak around her head, shielding her somewhat. She was weeping so hard she was unable to see where she was or where she put her feet, but he wouldn’t let her fall. Surely even in her deepest agony, she knew that, and trusted him to lead her.

She did. And so he conveyed his broken, beloved Sonmi safely through the old city, back to the flat where they had so recently known joy.

She was weeping quietly by the time they were inside again, weak and white from grief. He poured her some of the cooled tea from breakfast, pressed her hands around the cup, and brought it to her mouth; felt a miniscule bit of relief when she took a long drink. Then he lay her down on the bed, and as she curled up into herself, he folded his body around her.

No words he could speak would help her, or himself. He just lay with her, listening to her cry, stroking her arm; occasionally, he pressed his face gently to the back of her neck, letting her feel that he was there. Slowly, he entered a near-meditative state; his eyes closed, and his entire awareness focused on her, quietly trembling and weeping next to him. Time passed.

Then, she spoke. “That ship…” she whispered.

He raised his head a little, eyes still closed… knowing what was coming.

“That ship… must be destroyed.”

His hand tightened on her arm, his head nodding almost imperceptibly. “Yes,” he breathed, the faith he had always had in her in his depths rising to the surface, vindicated… while something else, something sweet and fragile and that he’d never really had, began to crumble.

“The systems that built them must be torn down,” she continued quietly.

“Yes.” Triumph warred with sudden, bitter grief. He had worked for this, wanted this… for her, for himself, for the cause. It was not only right, but inevitable. How, then, could it hurt so much?

“No matter if we’re born in a tank or a womb, we are all pure-blood.” Her voice shook as in one tremulous whisper, she redefined the term that he realized even he had sometimes used in his mind to separate them from each other.

“Yes.” He had her arm in an iron grip. Why, he wasn’t sure… to urge her to continue… to express agreement? To beg her to stop?

But none of these would make any difference. This was happening now, no matter what he did.

“We must all fight and, if necessary, die to teach people the truth.” He couldn’t respond anymore.

She had ascended. She would speak for Union. They would both die soon—he defending her when she spoke, she by public execution when the forces of Unanimity captured her anyway. The sweet, wondering fabricant that he had cared for was gone forever, as was the dream that he’d never admitted to having—that they might, somehow, be happy together.

He felt her turn toward him, and opened his eyes. He hardly recognized her face... aged years in a day, gripped by brutal, unavoidable necessity borne of terrible pain… empty of hope.

But as he looked at her longer, he could still see his Sonmi, her eyes infinitely deep and known to him even now. She had simply become who she was meant to be… who she _had_ to be, in this life.

She was waiting for him to reply. And he realized that even in the fullness of free will, she needed, or at least wanted, his reassurance; that she loved him, and always would.

“This is what we have been waiting for,” he whispered, his eyes burning with tears of grief, and pride, and love for her.

 

He remembered holding her desperately close, his chest shuddering violently; then harsh, almost animal noises began to escape him, tortured sounds that he realized were sobs, for tears were pouring down his cheeks. He recalled her lips on his face, her arms grasping him back fiercely… the quick, reassuring beat of her heart against his breast.

But at some point, a mysterious exhaustion overcame him, making his body limp, his vision blurry, his eyelids intolerably heavy. He tried to resist it, forcing his eyes open. Despite all that had happened, he should not feel this tired... he saw Sonmi sitting upright, her hand resting on his chest, her face far away, as if lost in meditation... then, his eyelids lowered again. When they opened once more, he was alone on the bed, and it was evening.

Had he fallen asleep, or passed out? He felt terribly cold and weak, almost feverish; his brow was clammy, and his entire head ached. As he rubbed his eyes, he sensed that something precious was missing: his ring.

Panic filled him. What had become of it? He never took his ring off; it made him feel that his beloved was close to him, no matter how far away she truly was. Then he remembered the doctor, smiling as he severed the golden band, prying it off to save his grotesquely swollen hand... he remembered his agonizing pains, his long-departed strength, the utter hopelessness of his illness, in spite of the doctor's potions... or was it because of them? His thoughts had long been muddled, on that and other matters. Either way, it was too late for him... surely, he would die within the day…

Yet his hand appeared normal when he looked at it, if lacking a ring. Gradually, his confused mind sorted itself and recalled him to the present. But anxiety continued to flutter in him as he looked around for Sonmi. Could she have…? No, she never would, and any intruder would have awoken him.

He went quickly to the front room, and there she was, still wearing her black cloak, seated on the floor near the window. She was gazing out at the crowded street, like she had been before… was it really just two nights ago? It seemed both an impossibly short time, and an eternity.

She turned and looked up at him; she appeared pale and drained, much as he felt... yet remarkably calm. He sat down beside her, and his eyes fell on a large covered pot next to her. Another meal that their hostess had managed to slip in, unnoticed. He really seemed to be losing his skills.

There were two sets of bowls, spoons, and chopsticks nearby, and one set had been used; Sonmi must have eaten some already. It was a wonder she was able to eat at all after what she had been through today, and what looked to have been savory, reddish stew at that. He was sure he didn’t feel up to it, yet found himself uncovering the pot anyway. And as a whiff of warm, fragrant kimchi jjigae hit his nostrils, his mouth began to water, and a sharp gnawing commenced in his stomach.

He looked questioningly at Sonmi. She nodded, and he almost smiled at their apparent ability to communicate without words... almost, for he still felt feeble, achy, and just plain lousy. But he served them both, took the other set of utensils, and began to eat; and gradually, the spicy, flavorful stew brought warmth and strength back to his insides. The kimchi had plainly been old and sour, perfect for jjigae, and he couldn’t help enjoying it. Sonmi, too, ate well. And Hae-Joo wished again that he could thank their elderly friend for her help.

Sonmi finished first, while he served himself a bit more. She sat in silence, aimlessly watching the goings-on outside. But as he ate his last spoonful, he noticed her attention focus on something.

He followed her gaze and saw a humble erhu player setting up his stool in the middle of the street. His clothes were ragged, his skin marked with sores; heavy spectacles were over his obviously poor eyes, and he moved with great difficulty. He appeared to be one of the more wretched of the old city’s subs.

Yet once he had seated himself, and brought his erhu into position, a change came over him. He played his instrument with the devoted dignity of a priest, and the longing, melancholy strains floated sweetly over the bustle and noise of the streets, carrying Hae-Joo away from the present... to the unchanging, to infinite possibility, and the eternal beyond… and suddenly, he realized he was hearing the Cloud Atlas theme.

He turned to Sonmi in astonishment. She was already gazing at him, unsurprised; her eyes seemed to penetrate his soul.

“He has been here before… he plays it over and over again. It is as if he is searching for the music, always finding it, only to lose it again.”

A bit of the familiar softness came back into her face. “I was listening to him two nights ago, before I came to you. It sounded so sweet to me then. I thought of how you and I had sat together for hours, listening to all of that wonderful music. I had such… beautiful… feelings in my heart afterward, that I couldn’t sleep. I remembered watching you sleep, and wanting… _needing_ to be near you—to hear your heart beat. When you woke, before the Enforcers came, I was afraid; but I also knew then that I wanted to be even closer to you.”

It was the most she had ever spoken to him at once. She was quiet for a moment, her eyes glowing with memory.

“When I heard the music again, I wanted the same thing… and I realized that I was no longer afraid. And so, I came to you again…”

She trailed off, and turned her face away for a moment. When she looked back at him, her eyes were gleaming and hard.

“Now I can only think of—that ship. My sisters, full of joy, even at—the doors... how I sang in the diner as they left, dreaming of when I would follow them... to freedom.” Her lips twitched slightly in a bitter distortion of that tiny smile he had grown so fond of.

She continued quietly. “I know now that they are all dead—so many sisters, killed and torn apart like things, while I lived on... and their bodies were used to feed me. I thought I would never eat again, when I learned the truth.” She was silent for a moment. “Yet hours later, I smelled this food... and my body told me it was hungry, and I ate. Somehow, life goes on, even when it seems impossible.”

She turned back to him. “But I know that the pain I feel will never leave me, not as long as I live. It is as if it will last for all time.”

He had taken her hands in his as she spoke. Her pain was her own, but also intimately linked to his, now welling up in him afresh. The words of a suppressed scholar and storyteller two centuries ago, an avid apologist for an extinct religion, came to him.

“The pain I feel now is the happiness I had before,” he whispered.

She nodded. “That’s the deal,” she responded quietly, her eyes suddenly soft again.

It was a funny thing to say, almost a quip, though she did not laugh. And then Hae-Joo realized that she had spoken the very next words of the book he was quoting—words he hadn’t even remembered himself, until this instant.

But when could she have read C.S. Lewis…? Surely not during her studies… yet how else? How could she even have read his mind, when he hadn’t remembered the words himself? Or had she somehow come up with the words on her own, recreating by coincidence what a learned, faithful storyteller had written during his own deep mourning, hundreds of years in the past?

He was staring at her, astounded; her response was a smile, and this time it was luminous. And he realized that there was something else happening to her, something beyond even ascension, or something of which her ascension had been only the beginning… something uncanny and glorious…

Then, she was in his arms again, and they were kissing, passionately... moving toward the bedroom, pulling off his jacket, her cloak, his shirt... and as the ache of desire rose in him once more, he accepted the miracle without further question. 

It was as if she were determined with every touch, kiss and caress to learn him by heart. He surrendered himself completely, to her hands on him, her mouth on him, the wet, warm depths of her as she lowered herself onto him once more... to the rhythm of their bodies, moving together, and the waves of release that seized them, again and again... thus, they knew and loved each other anew, for the last time in this life.

As they held each other afterward, she whispered to him. “Hae-Joo, I already know you by heart.”

Just when he thought nothing could surprise him anymore, it seemed that now, she truly could read his mind. “Sonmi…” But he simply drew her face to his and kissed her, deep and long.

When he released her lips at last, she drew a deep breath, and he, too, already knew what she was about to say.

“Send word now to the General that I am ready to share my revelations with the people. Tomorrow, if it can be done.”

 _Tomorrow…_ it was so soon. But time was simply not on their side. Any delay risked her being recaptured before she spoke out; she must not be. She was ready, and so was he. He obeyed her.

 

They lay together, bodies seeking rest, minds reluctant to lose any of the last hours they had together in sleep. They gazed at each other in silence for a long time.

In her eyes, which had been so innocent and frightened, were now depths of determination and wisdom, mingled with the love he realized he had always seen. How much she had changed in the short time he had known her; yet, she was infinitely more herself now than she had been when he had met her. Then, a startling fact came to him: tonight marked a week since they had met. It was unbelievable, but true... just seven nights ago, he had whirled around in the diner, and seen her standing there...

“You don’t have to come with me, Hae-Joo,” Sonmi spoke softly, breaking his reflections.

Confusion filled him... followed by shock. His arms tightened around her, desperately. “Sonmi—how can you say that? I will not leave you.”

Until the Enforcers came to stop her, and he had to fight them, and they killed him. It was as if he had spoken the words aloud, because they both heard them in the silence.

“You would still be with me. You don’t have to die, too—not yet. You could live, Hae-Joo,” she replied earnestly.

He cradled her face in his hands, his eyes beginning to burn again. It both stunned him and tore him apart inside that she could have made the decision she had while having such thoughts. It seemed that she would astonish him to the very end.

“You know that I will go with you, Sonmi,” he whispered hoarsely, blinking to keep his tears from falling. “As far as I can.”

She gazed at him, tender and sorrowful; placed her hands over his, which were holding her face, and rested them there for a moment. Then, she gently took his hands, held them to her lips, and kissed them; finally, she brought them to her breast, and pressed them there. “I know,” she said softly.

Silence fell again for a few moments, as he felt her warm, quick, strong heart beating beneath his hands.

“You’re not afraid,” he whispered suddenly.

“What is there to be afraid of, Hae-Joo?” she murmured. “Pain? It is but the other side of joy. That makes it part of life’s greatest gift; I accept it freely.”

“Death? It is only a door; our bodies die, but our souls endure. Nothing is ever truly lost, even in death. You and I are both aware that we have known each other before, and that we will know each other again, even if we do not understand how." 

Memories flickered across her face. “All my life, I was taught to stop myself from thinking or feeling. I did not know what I was, or what I could become.”

She smiled, though her eyes were still sad. “Yoona showed me what it is to wonder… to ask questions. When she died, I felt deep pain for the first time. I questioned the catechisms myself for the first time.”

She paused, then fixed her eyes on his, impossibly sweet and deep. “But I did not begin to know myself until I met you.”

The tears spilled from his own eyes. How could such love and truth hurt so much…? And yet, the hurt was almost joy.

Tenderly, she brushed his tears away with her fingers as she continued to speak softly.

“All that you have shown me has helped me to learn… to feel… to understand so much, Hae-Joo. Enough for many lifetimes. But it was in the way you looked at me that I truly found myself: for to be is to be perceived, and so, to know thyself is only possible through the eyes of the other.”

He drank in her words, feeling them echo in him… writing them in his heart, even as he felt the beat of hers.

“The nature of our immortal lives is in the consequences of our words and deeds, that go on apportioning themselves throughout all time.”

While her soft, steady voice spoke on, her hand stroked his cheek, and her other hand came to rest on his chest again; and his eyes began to close, as he felt himself filled with a deep, inexplicable peace.

“Our lives are not our own. From womb to tomb, we are bound to others, past and present…”

His soul clung to her voice: seeing, hearing, remembering.

“And by each crime, and every kindness, we birth our future.”


	15. The Door

Shortly after they left the flat the early next morning, Hae-Joo saw Sonmi’s eyes fall on a brilliant blue cloak in a street stall, and he immediately wanted her to have it. He looked back at her, and she nodded at him quietly.

So they stopped at the stall, and bought it. She took off her black robe, and Hae-Joo helped her drape the new blue cloak over her purple tunic. As fond of the other cloak as they had both become, he felt glad that she would be wrapped in such lovely bright blue, rather than black, for her broadcast to humanity today… the last day he would see her. She looked positively luminous in it.

Then, Sonmi took the black cloak and walked back in the direction of the flat. He followed, puzzled, as she approached an alley just off the main street. There, curled up in the shadows, was a heap of rags from which protruded two grimy hands... clutching an erhu.,

Hae-Joo watched as Sonmi tenderly tucked the black folds around the sleeping musician. For a moment, her hand lingered gently on his shoulder, and the old man stirred as if in a dream; but he did not awake. Then she straightened, and continued with Hae-Joo to Union headquarters.

When they arrived, they went directly to the General’s room. There, Hae-Joo had to watch Sonmi be led inside alone... though she was utterly calm and composed, he had barely let her out of his sight since rescuing her from the prison, and he loathed doing it now. But Apis had instructed the guard to bring her in alone, and Hae-Joo could well understand why. The General had been thrilled with Sonmi’s swift change of heart, and had agreed it prudent to act as soon as possible; yet surely, he and Union’s other leaders wished to evaluate not only Sonmi’s readiness to speak independently, but what she intended to say. Hae-Joo was equally sure that they would be astounded at just how ready she was, and all the more so by her actual words... even without having heard them yet himself.

In the meantime, he had matters to attend to, and made his way down the hall to the large room where the volunteers for Sonmi’s guard had begun to assemble. It was a known suicide mission, yet there were plenty of volunteers; quite a few too many, he quickly saw. He would have to make some difficult decisions now, as to which men were important enough to Union to remove from the mission. He concentrated, performed some cold, emotionless analyses, and got it done.

However, there was one man he attempted to remove because he was one of the Neo Seoul collective’s few additional science officers; unlike all the others he quietly dismissed, this one protested. When pressed for an explanation, the dark-skinned man stated he had personal reasons, his warm eyes fixing him in a powerful gaze... and Hae-Joo felt a jolt of recognition. It was the Afrasian agent who had first discovered Yoona-939 and her smile in Papa Song’s diner.

He hardly knew the man... and yet he liked him a great deal. He had played a crucial role at the beginning of this undertaking, and he seemed not only exceedingly skilled, but warm-hearted as well. And somehow, there was even more to it... fleetingly, Hae-Joo was aware of a much deeper connection between them, another great undertaking which this dark-skinned man had helped him begin, and on which he had accompanied and aided him to the end…

Yes, somehow he understood the agent’s desire to stay on the guard now. And so, going against his own wishes, he granted the agent’s, dismissing another young officer in his place.

All of the officers and fighters had the discipline to refrain from showing their emotions, whether relief or disappointment, at the decisions that spared some lives while sentencing others to a certain but honorable death within the day. They were all good, courageous men.

With the guard fixed, he outlined their plans for the next twenty minutes or so, until a familiar voice summoned his attention.

“Commander Chang.” He turned to see Mitchell at the door.

Hae-Joo delegated another officer to continue the meeting. Then, he and Mitchell went silently into the hall; there, they embraced each other for the first time in fifteen years.

When they finally released each other, Mitchell's eyes were alight. "She is extraordinary, Chang. I believed from the beginning, more than anyone else—except you. But she is far beyond all of us now."

“Yes,” was all Hae-Joo could say before his throat tightened, cutting off further speech. Unable to do anything else, he automatically began to walk down the hall, back toward Apis's room; after a few seconds, Mitchell followed, catching up to him with swift strides. For several moments, there was silence; they simply walked together. Then...

"You love her, don't you?" Mitchell asked him quietly.

Hae-Joo stopped; gazed at his friend, still unable to speak, and nodded. He wasn't really surprised, for Mitchell had always read him like a book. Yet Mitchell's own face had abruptly become a mask... and now _he_ turned away and continued walking down the hall, and Hae-Joo had to catch up to him.

He could not begin to guess what lay behind Mitchell's reaction. He had always been good at concealing his thoughts, even from Hae-Joo... and he had been working as a spy in the Consumer world a far longer time than Hae-Joo had spent with him. Yet _Mitchell,_ of all people, couldn't possibly disapprove. Something else was at play here.

Silence reigned until they stopped before the door to Apis's room. There, Mitchell met Hae-Joo's gaze again; then, as abruptly as his mask had appeared, it fell away. "I've been made provisional Boardman for AmerCorpia," he said, eyes full of pain.

Hope flared wildly through Hae-Joo—but an instant later, he knew that this would not, _could_ not change the events of the immediate future. As a highly placed spy, Mitchell's duty was convertly relaying crucial information to Union, never intervention; being a Boardman would put him in a priceless position to aid in the preparation and dissemination of Union propaganda related to Sonmi's broadcast, but for that to occur, he _must_ maintain cover now. He shouldn't even be at headquarters right now; doubtless, he had wanted to see Sonmi again...

Then, Hae-Joo realized that Mitchell would have to watch Sonmi's execution.

It was so tragic, he could have laughed out loud. Mitchell, the first man to dream of a free-willed fabricant; Mitchell, whose brilliance had showed them the way to discover and foster ascendance. Now, in his role as Boardman, Mitchell would be forced to play one of the murderers of the only known free-willed fabricant in the world... after she had evolved even beyond ascendance... spoken out for the rebellion for which he himself was willing to die... and become the love of his best friend's life. Yet there was absolutely nothing he could do to save her, without destroying all that they, with her, were working for.

"She knows what I have to do," Mitchell said in a low voice. And as Hae-Joo watched, Mitchell's face again became as calm as only a spy's could be. "She understands— everything. She helped _me_ to better understand it all."

He paused. "Yet I must say, Hae-Joo... as hard as it will be for you, I would much rather be in your position than mine."

To that, Hae-Joo could again only say, "Yes."

There was another moment of silence. It was as it was.

"She is waiting across the hall," Mitchell finally said. "She said you would wish to speak to the General alone.”

Hae-Joo nodded; that had been wise of her. He entered the room, knowing that Mitchell had already guessed what he was about to do.

Inside, General Apis was by himself, awe still lingering on his face. Hae-Joo briefed him on the volunteers, the status of their preparations. Then he stated his decision to lead Sonmi’s guard.

He saw astonishment in Apis’s eyes, followed by confusion. Then, slowly, comprehension filled his face, and the General turned away with a heavy sigh. For several moments, he said nothing, and Hae-Joo could almost feel him gathering all his powers of persuasion.

When Apis turned back to him and began to speak, his tone was gentle as Hae-Joo had ever heard from him.

He praised his First Science Officer’s obvious devotion to the fabricant whom he had twice rescued, carefully nurtured, and risked his life to protect, helping her to achieve not only free will but an extraordinary enlightenment. Apis would never have believed that she was the same timid being from the meeting two days ago, let alone the diner vidi, had he not seen it with his own eyes. Commander Chang had believed in this fabricant from the start, when few others did; he had practically insisted on becoming her sole guard and mentor, and applied himself with incredible dedication to this task. Under his care, the fabricant had made strides beyond their wildest expectations, even before he accompanied her on the crucial journey of the previous day; now, with that undoubtedly difficult task completed, the fabricant had transformed into a free, highly courageous being of astonishing eloquence and insight. Yes, she was one who could stir Humanity to break the power of Unanimity. The Movement owed Hae-Joo Chang a great debt.

Commander Chang had many unique and formidable skills, which had helped him accomplish this duty, and would continue to perform a highly significantly role in the future of the Movement. The legacy of Sonmi-451 would continue in the telling and re-telling of her extraordinary story. The people would embrace her words, but Unanimity would do all it could to suppress them; thus, Union must fight to ensure they were heard by all. The people would rally in inspiration and clamor for change, but the backlash of the authorities would be great, and Union would need all its strength in the chaotic times to come.

Apis grew forceful: it was Commander Chang’s _duty_ to continue to lead the struggle against Unanimity, both to the rebellion to which he had sworn himself and to this marvelous human being to whom he clearly had become deeply attached, who was about to sacrifice herself for that very cause. He simply could not throw his life away now; the General ordered him to withdraw from the guard.

Apis paused, seeing the unchanged resolve in Hae-Joo’s face, and seemed at a loss to continue. Only then did Hae-Joo answer him, with brief, quiet certainty.

“She has made her decision, and I have made mine. I can't go with her to the end, but I will protect her until my death.”

There was real sorrow in the General’s eyes as they gazed at each other; a final, mute appeal. But Hae-Joo only went on, to dispel any doubts his leader still had.

“This goes beyond Union, Apis. Nothing you say or do will change it; even if I have to fight my way onto the aero, you can’t stop me. I will do it.” And General Apis bowed his head, realizing it useless to argue any further.

Long moments went by as Hae-Joo waited for dismissal; none came. He was about to leave anyway, when Apis finally spoke again.  
  
"It staggers me to lose you, Chang... yet perhaps, the cataclysm ahead will be so great that having you with us or not will make little difference. I shudder to think of it; but all will be as it must be."

Apis straightened. "You fought for her, mentored her; we would have lost her any number of times if not for you. If you have fallen in love with her as well, I can only hope that you two have found some joy together during this perilous undertaking, and be glad for you." He paused, and wonder filled his face again. "Yet, even though you have been with her the whole way, I doubt that you are any better able to explain what she has become than I. As she spoke, I often felt that I was in the presence of perfect enlightenment and truth... the true embodiment of the Movement, which our imperfect rebellion can only strive to support. And I can only hope that she accepts our imperfections and forgives us, along with the sins of our world, and what we must do to her. "

The wonder in his face gave way once more to duty. "If you must go with her, then go, Commander Chang." The General bowed again, with great formality. "Farewell."

Hae-Joo inclined his head in return. "Farewell, Apis."

Mitchell was waiting for Hae-Joo outside the room. “I knew he would never be able to talk you out of it. Still I hoped, for entirely selfish reasons; it doesn't seem fair to finally meet again, after all this time... only to part until the next life.”

Hae-Joo squeezed his shoulder, and finally managed to put together a sentence to his friend. “Thank you, Mitchell... for everything.”

His gratitude went beyond the truth and purpose his friend had helped him find in his youth. He also knew that without Mitchell, he would never have found Sonmi, the best thing that had ever happened to him, nor been able to help her change their world... he wished that he could say this, and so much more. He would not let himself think about Mitchell having to stand with the Boardmen, not now; only the good his friend had wrought... so much good.

Despite that, or perhaps because of it, there was a burning in his eyes, a tightness in his chest... feelings he had thought lost to him for life until yesterday. It was easy to hold them back when he spoke to Apis, and to the other officers and fighters, but somehow, he was unable to hide them from Mitchell. And he couldn’t give in to tears again right now, in the middle of Union headquarters, with work yet to be done.

Mitchell stopped him. “I know, my friend,” he said simply. “And I will do all I can to see that the world never forgets her.”

Squeezing his shoulder back, Mitchell smiled at him. And Hae-Joo found himself returning it: the first smile they had shared since they were youths together, and the last.

“Good-bye, Hae-Joo,” Mitchell said softly, and left.

 

The guard all understood their duty: provide cover for Sonmi in order for her to continue the Union broadcast as long as possible, until every last one of them fell. It was a ceremonial role; the defense plan was simple, and they would be no match for the Enforcer assault. Yet there had been an excess of volunteers to stand between the lone free-willed fabricant and the weapons of Unanimity, and not one of those remaining seemed to consider it anything less than a sacred task.

Gathering of weapons, followed by coordination with rebel hackers scattered across the globe, who had been up all night preparing... despite their best efforts, they estimated that all would be traced within a few minutes, with Enforcers descending on their locations soon afterward. Still, it would take the Enforcers a little time to get to the remote island, even with the fastest aeros; the Enforcers would reach the hackers sooner, but they had written a fiendishly complex program that would automatically maintain the signal, and required great skill to disable. Sonmi would very likely be heard and seen across the world, until the Enforcers physically seized her.

Loading the high-speed aero… sitting in silence for the two hours’ journey with Sonmi and the guard. Her face was set with purpose, and they didn’t touch. Their bodies had joined for the last time the previous night; to touch each other risked overwhelming emotions, and could only make their tasks more difficult. At least, that was what Hae-Joo kept telling himself. The guard afforded them both a respectful distance, their expressions betraying awe whenever they looked at Sonmi.

Then they were approaching the island, skimming over the water in warm, late afternoon sunlight. Their destination looked lush and peaceful, with no evidence from this distance of the environmental poisoning that had caused its abandonment; perhaps the ecosystem had somewhat recovered already. Surely this beautiful, isolated place could still support human life, even after a true disaster…

Part of him recalled another journey over the water, a different island. The journey had begun on that other island, and it had been a journey back to her... the island before them was the completion of a journey he had made alongside her. At its end, very soon now, the two of them must part.

Yet he had a strong feeling that he, at least, would set foot on the island before them again. Somehow, he could even envision it as a home. Yes, it would provide a peaceful refuge for his family, his people… for a time...

They hovered to the top of the forbidding mountain peak, to the massive, temple-like domes of the satellite station. The largest dome, containing the broadcast chamber, had been a grand, cavernous space for Boardmen to give speeches before the assembled crowds, as well as those forced to watch all over the world. Here, the rebels set up their simple defensive barricades on its vast floor and armed themselves, then sealed the blast doors. Hae-Joo contacted the hackers; they were standing by.

It was time to take Sonmi up to the chamber. Hae-Joo beckoned her to the lift and called it down.

As they waited, he longed intensely to touch her, even briefly, one more time; to somehow say goodbye. But he also didn’t know if that would help either of them get through the coming moments; his chest felt tighter than ever, and the last thing she needed was for him to break down now. So he rigidly controlled himself.

The lift arrived. She entered first, he followed her and closed the door, and they ascended swiftly to the chamber. He went in and activated the vidi and audio equipment; confirmed that the hackers could see the feed, and told them to broadcast on his order.

He looked at Sonmi, standing next to him. “Are you ready?” he asked, unable to believe how calm he sounded.

She nodded. Her eyes were clear and serious. She must now speak, alone, freely and without assistance, for all of humanity to see. He must not do anything to distract her now from her purpose. He could only watch and listen to her from below, with the other rebels, until the assault began.

So he simply had to leave her now, no matter how he felt.

“You will hear a beep just before the feed goes live,” he said quietly. “Then you can begin.”

He returned to the lift, stepped in, and turned around to close it; saw that she had silently followed him, and was standing just outside the door.

She slowly reached out her hand to him, across the open door; hesitantly, he reached out and took it, afraid that he would be unable to control his emotions. They held hands for a moment, gazing at each other quietly. Then, to her lips came a slight hint of her sweet little smile; rather than undoing him, it reassured him that, somehow, despite everything, she would be all right... more than all right.

She let go of his hand and went back into the chamber. He closed the door and descended.

Soon he was standing behind the rebel defenses, with a clear view of her blue and purple form above; he noticed that all of the fighters were looking up at her from their various positions. He ordered the hackers to broadcast the feed. Then, Sonmi began to speak.

“I am Sonmi, once called Sonmi-451. I am a fabricant. I was a server in Papa Song’s diner; now I am free. I speak for the Union Movement.”

Hae-Joo and the rebels listened, spellbound, along with billions of people around the world, and perhaps ten thousand others many light-years across the galaxy. With beautiful poise, Sonmi spoke the truths Hae-Joo knew he had helped her learn, and her own insights, which he had never heard her speak aloud, yet which resonated in him as if she spoke for his soul. She spoke on the meaning of freedom and self-knowledge; the innate human tendency toward prejudice and corruption; the brutal treatment of those deemed inferior, such as her kind, in a repeating cycle throughout history. She spoke of fabricant conditioning, and catechisms, and processing; of the loss of her sister and friend; of music and literature, food and sexuality; of the transcendence of unseen boundaries and established conventions; of love, and death, and the connection of all souls.

Hours seemed to pass, but Hae-Joo knew only it had been a little over fifteen minutes. He was aware, even as he listened, that the Enforcers would soon arrive. There had been no communication from the hackers since the broadcast begun; they could be dead already, and if not, they would be soon. There would be no contact with Union headquarters, to prevent the Enforcers from tracing it, and spare as many other rebels as they could. They could only wait.

And then, Hae-Joo heard it… the barely audible roar of aeros approaching the dome. They were coming.

There was still a little time. He knew that Sonmi could not hear the noise in the soundproof dome, but she could surely see the guard begin to ready their weapons, even as they continued to listen to her. Yet her words still flowed easily and elegantly. Hae-Joo continued to gaze up at her, not quite ready to turn away…

Moments later, he heard a familiar, high-pitched hiss. The Enforcers were burning through the doors with lasers; she would be able to see the bright incisions glowing on the doors. In a minute they would be inside, and not much later, it would be over. She must know that, even as she continued to talk steadily.

He turned away reluctantly and walked slowly toward the rebels. Most were already crouching, their weapons trained on the doors, as the incisions grew wider and brighter.

“To be is to be perceived. And so, to know thyself is only possible through the eyes of the other,” she said.

He recognized these words; she had said them to him the previous night. He looked back at her again, alone in the chamber above, and the tightness in his chest gave way to that longing ache once more.

She knew. She was telling him that she knew, by making her words from their final night of love the end of her revelation. Had she always intended for them to conclude her revelation to humanity? Had she deliberately spoken them to him alone first... to tell him she loved him, and farewell?

It did not matter. Whenever she had made the choice, it was the same: hers, and beautiful.

He turned back to see his men waiting, some of them watching him anxiously. The dark-skinned science officer gazed at him steadily, his warm eyes conveying strength... companionship. Hae-Joo joined them.

“The nature of our immortal lives is in the consequences of our words and deeds—” he heard Sonmi say, as he crouched behind the barricade and aimed his weapon, and he felt the entire guard draw in its courage, and move into final readiness— “That go on apportioning themselves throughout all time.”

Her voice was steady. She could do this.

Then the doors exploded, and it all happened even more swiftly than he had imagined. Fire and smoke and blinding phasers; men screaming, flying, blasted apart. Still, Hae-Joo could hear Sonmi’s voice, her words slowing as she witnessed the slaughter unfolding below her.

“Our lives are not our own… from womb to tomb, we are bound to others… past and present.”

Over half of the rebels were down, with Enforcers pouring through the doors. The dark-skinned science officer cried out and fell just in front of him. It would all end in a moment for the rest of them, but Sonmi wasn’t done yet; she needed a few more seconds for those last words, which he knew so well.

He rolled into the open, threw a grenade and shot fiercely into the wave of approaching Enforcers, as an explosion took out the rebels crouched meters away. Somehow, he heard her continue. “And by each crime, and every kindness… we birth our future.”

The blast sent him flying. He crashed to the floor, could not move, and gazed at her far above him. He recognized this moment; she had finished speaking her revelation, and his life was nearly over. As if he were close to her still, he saw the tears spill from her eyes... as he had before, and would again…

 

She had cried tears of joy after his dark-skinned friend helped him stagger from the ship, through the town, and back to his home. She had run to him and thrown her arms around him, and he had held her and kissed her, his beloved red-haired wife, her happy sobs in his ear…

She would shed a single tear just before the Boardmen had her executed during their own public broadcast to the people. They would have her clothed mockingly in the white dress of xultation, and look on as red-robed attendants lowered the instrument of xcisement over her head. Mitchell would stand with the Boardmen before her, his face impassive, unable to do anything but bear witness. And Sonmi would gaze at Mephi with love and defiance, knowing she had won her fight at last.

She could not yet know this on the night she accompanied her husband to her father’s house. There, the lawyer interrupted the businessman at dinner to announce that he would no longer work for him. He threw the slave contract he had brought back from the island into the fire for good measure. He also announced his and his wife’s decision to move across the country, to work with other men and women who wished to end slavery.

She had embraced his dark-skinned friend when she learned of how he had saved her husband’s life; she had listened, moved to her soul, as he told his story of enslavement, suffering, and escape. She had known little of such things, for her father, though he had grown wealthy from the slave trade and regularly defended it, had discouraged her from learning much about it. But now that she knew the truth of its evil, she could not conceive of staying silent about it. When her husband told her of the movement he was considering joining, she told him that she not only supported his decision, but wished to help him in this great new work in any way she could.

She had also felt then that this decision would free them both from her father’s oppressive control, once and for all... yet when they told him, her father threatened them with dire consequences: not from him, but from the entire world.

_This movement will never survive; if you join them, you and your entire family will be shunned. At best, you will exist as a pariah to be spat at and beaten; at worst, to be lynched or crucified._

She felt a terrible chill at those words… it seemed she could see her father at that very moment, coldly and knowingly watching her own execution. Her husband gazed at her in concern.

 _And for what? For what?_ Her father continued, enjoying the effect his words had had. _No matter what you do, it will never amount to anything more than a single drop in a limitless ocean._

But her husband’s brave response filled her with courage again.

_What is an ocean, but a multitude of drops?_

She couldn’t help looking back at her father’s face, cold with wrath, as she and her husband left. She felt sure he would never call her daughter again, nor even bother to trouble her and her husband in their new life; and yet she felt equally sure that she would see him again… that then, she would fight a much greater battle with him, and all he stood for.

But she had won now. She knew that countless corrupt, lost, and suffering people would find in her words the light and understanding they longed for. She had already seen the light dawning in the eyes of the quiet Archivist with whom she met before her xcisement. He had begun as an officer of Unanimity, with all the prejudices of his position; yet he ended overcome with wonder at her story of freedom, enlightenment, and love that reached beyond death. He seemed especially moved when she spoke of her love… it was almost as if he were remembering someone, a great lost love of his own…

Yes, she had ascended far beyond her father’s comprehension. Her presence among humanity would endure beyond her death, giving people the courage to seek the truth and overcome darkness in the next age... and she would see her love again in eternity. So she smiled at Mephi, a single, joyful tear spilling from her eye. Then the metal bolt punctured her skull, and her head fell limply back.

Blackness had descended on Hae-Joo, and he could no longer see Sonmi as his broken body convulsed. It was as if he felt the poison torturing his insides anew… then he could feel the cruel slash of the knife, cutting off his wail of despair, mingled with the agony of witnessing his beloved son’s death… of losing Jae… of the deaths of all the rebels who had bravely given their lives for the cause, including those whose bodies littered the floor around him now, and of the multitudes who were yet to perish, whose bodies would lie here and elsewhere after the horrors still to come.

 _Sonmi…_ where was she? It was such anguish to let her go where he could not follow.

Yet she had had to go; she had made the choice. Great good would come of the path she had chosen, and one day his soul would find hers again… and yes, he could still feel her, gazing down on him even now.

Her father would continue on the path of his own choosing. He would embrace prejudice, exploit and even kill others for his own gain. He would ever seek to brutalize and control, to hold limitless power; he would descend as far as Sonmi had ascended, to twist others’ souls with fear and selfishness.

The demon would torment the tattooed brother, that troubled soul who had done terrible things... poisoned the lawyer in order to steal what he coveted, hidden while his own brother-in-law and nephew were slaughtered... he had long struggled against his weakness. Sometimes, he had overcome, as when he helped the brown-skinned journalist; more often, he had given in, and let himself be ruled by greed and violence.

Yet hope was never lost. Sonmi’s existence now reached beyond death. She would send the brother her words through her priestess, and he would have other help as well. Her kind and curious sister; his sweet little girl; and, above all, the brown-skinned woman in white. They would all help the brother… _had_ helped the brother to conquer his fear and selfishness, freeing him from the demon’s power forever. Hae-Joo had already seen this.

Now he saw the brother again, old and weathered, a bunch of young children with skin brown, pale and every shade in between gathered adoringly before him. The brother had left the dying earth; he had built a full, happy life with the brown woman, his little girl, and the family they made of mingled free peoples, in their new home across the galaxy.

As Hae-Joo died, pain gave way to joy. Humanity, truth, and love would live on.

He looked on as his brother kissed the brown woman tenderly. He saw a smile light up the face of his dark-skinned friend. He watched his young boy and his little girl and Yoona, laughing together. He gazed into his red-haired bride’s sweet eyes; lost himself in her arms anew.

He heard the Cloud Atlas theme, and it was rapture now.

He loved Sonmi. He would live again, and again. All was so perfectly, damnably well.


End file.
